Naval Criminal Investigative Service
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Complete. House/NCIS crossover. Wilson's missing brother wasn't crazy, he was in the Navy. And now he's been murdered. Cannon as of s5e1 House 'verse, s5e18 NCIS. Beta: Phate Phoenix.
1. Chapter 1

Wilson looked up as the door to his apartment opened…without a knock.

It was House, of course, looking rather annoyed, and carrying his motorcycle helmet.

"I talked to your assistant, was planning on bugging you when you had a patient," House said, limping in and thumping down on Wilson's couch, "but she said you're having Brown take all your appointments for the next week. Asked Cuddy, she said you took a week off, didn't tell her why. And… your eyes are red. So either you suddenly started skimming some of your patients' weed, or you've been crying."

Wilson closed his eyes briefly, closing the top of his suitcase, then turned around, and looked at his friend. "Yes, I'm taking a week off. Yes, I've been crying. The fact that I didn't tell you anything about it was supposed to be a hint that I didn't want you to know about it."

House snorted, rather derisively. "And you actually expected me not to find out?"

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," said Wilson, sighing.

The door opened, and two people, a woman with dark, wild hair and dark eyes, and a man with a medium height and build and short brown hair and green eyes, came in. House immediately noticed their black hats with 'NCIS' printed in white across the top. He frowned, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Dr. Wilson, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, we spoke on the phone about your brother. This is Officer Ziva David. Can we talk with you in private?"

Wilson had his face in his hands as he sighed again. "He can stay…"

"What was Wilson's brother doing with the Navy?" asked House, frowning at the two Agent's hats.

"That's not any of your business," said the one who had spoken—DiNozzo.

"We should not complain. He actually knew who we are," interjected the woman, David.

"We're wearing hats that say NCIS on them and he figures out the guy we're here about was in the Navy. Not a big leap of logic there—"

Ziva stomped on his foot.

Tony made a strange squeaking sound, and turned back to Wilson. "Please come with us."

Wilson nodded, picking up his suitcase.

House got to his feet. "We going to DC or Rhode Island?"

The two special agents looked at him, and the female one spoke, "You are not required."

"I'm coming."

Wilson looked at the other two. "It's okay… he'd just follow anyway, and I'd rather he came with me than drive his motorcycle on the turnpike."

They looked at each other, and then nodded.

Wilson put the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and sighed. "Okay. House, you need to call Cuddy, tell her you're taking time off."

House shook his head. "Told her that yesterday. My bag's out front."

Wilson rolled his eyes, and picked up his suitcase.

----

As the group took lunch in a small barbecue bistro, Wilson wondered, softly and aloud, "Why didn't my brother tell me he was in the Navy? I've thought he was on the streets, all these years…"

House looked up from picking at his pulled pork. "Depends. He might not have been allowed to. Or he might not have known how to contact you. Or he might just not have wanted to face you. No reason, I think, had anything to do with him hating you."

Wilson dropped his eyes, and started picking at his barbecued chicken.

"Yeah…"

The NCIS team showed up with their own food, and sat down at the table with House and Wilson. "So, were you in the Navy?" DiNozzo asked House.

House snorted. "Not a chance."

"Then a family member?" asked David, frowning as she looked at her food. "Why do they call them Buffalo wings if they come from a chicken?"

"His Dad," said Wilson, picking listlessly at his baked beans.

"Meaning when I got arrested when I was a kid it was an NCIS case, usually."

"Usually?" asked DiNozzo, practically cackling.

"I had a bit of a fascination with things that went boom. And they're called Buffalo wings because they were created in a town called Buffalo."

----

They rode down to DC, drove into the Naval Yard, walked into NCIS headquarters, and entered the morgue.

Three people were waiting there for them: one appeared to be an ex-Marine, what with the haircut, the shoes, and the hard-ass expression; the next was a fairly unremarkable young man in green autopsy scrubs and glasses; the last of the group was the medical examiner who wore a yellow polka dot bowtie.

House immediately made a sort of choked squawking sound, turned around, and tried to leave, but Wilson was standing there, looking at him curiously. House sighed, and turned around

The medical examiner was there, eyebrows raised. "Gregory! It's been such a long time, aren't you going to stay for a visit?"

"Shut up, Ducky."

Wilson looked at House. "You know the medical examiner?"

House sneered. "Don't you have a dead brother to identify?"

Wilson glared at him, hurt. "You didn't have to come."

House turned away, and walked out. "Yeah. I guess I shouldn't have bothered. I'll meet you back at the car, Wilson."

Gibbs looked at Ducky, eyebrows raised.

"I had him as a fellow quite a few years ago," said Ducky in explanation.

They turned to look at Wilson.

Wilson closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, and sighed..

----

House sat on the stairs of the NCIS headquarters, overlooking the frost-covered front lawn. A shadow fell over him, and he sighed.

Ducky, predictably.

"Your friend is being questioned by a Marine about the death of a brother who has been missing for years, and you run away because your old teacher happened to be the medical examiner on the case?"

"Are we having a state-the-obvious contest?"

"That is not the Gregory House I knew."

"The Gregory House you knew didn't limp."

"You know, in Victorian times, a physical handicap would have been regarded as a mental one."

"Thanks. That helps a lot."

Ducky sighed. "Gregory…is avoiding me really so important that you would rather sit on a flight of steps outside in December than support your friend with me present?"

"Obviously. Stupid question, as I'm already sitting out here."

"May I ask… why?"

"The Gregory House you knew is MIA. I didn't want you to go on a search and rescue mission for him."

"A person cannot simply *lose* a part of themselves, Gregory. Not permanently. You'll eventually find it again."

House made a slightly disgusted face.

Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Do I dare to ask?"

"Well, you see, a big chunk of my leg went missing a few years ago… I was just imagining what it'd look like if I found it now…"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"Of course I know what you mean. I was making a point. People change, Ducky. And they don't change back."

"Yes, well, that's only because they don't want to."

"There being a reason people don't change back doesn't make the fact they don't change back any less valid."

"Yes, but if people understand the reason that they changed in the first place—"

"Dr. Mallard?" It was the glasses-wearing man from Autopsy, looking a bit nervous and awkward.

Ducky stopped, looking up. "Yes, Mr. Palmer?"

"Um, agent Gibbs was looking at the body… I think he may have found something showing cause of death…"

House scrunched up his face as he looked at Palmer, and then looked at Ducky. "You replaced me with him?"

Ducky rolled his eyes. "And quite a few more in between. What, did you think you were going to be the only fellow I ever had just because you were the first?"

"No, but….him?"

Palmer's smile was starting to fade.

"Well, Mr. Palmer?"

"Oh, right Doctor. Agent Gibbs found something in the victim's throat."

"Why was agent Gibbs *looking* in the victim's throat?"

"I…uh… well, he…" stammered Palmer.

"Ah, well… Gibbs will be Gibbs; I suppose I can't fault you for that. Come, Gregory. I think you'll find special agent Gibbs an interesting enigma," said Ducky, getting to his feet.

"That the Marine that was in the morgue earlier?"

"Yes… but I would recommend waiting until you've actually *met* him before deciding to be disgusted by him," said Ducky with a sigh.

"Yes, because Marines who are useful for things other than killing and bartering for sex in six languages totally exist," grouched House.

"I'd like to think that they do," said a voice from behind him.

House smirked, not turning around. "Now *you're* the one making assumptions. You're assuming I would have stopped talking if I knew you were there." He then stood and faced the speaker.

"Jethro," Ducky said, "I'd like you to meet my first fellow, Dr. Gregory Christopher Zacharia House. Gregory, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"You know, you don't *always* have to introduce me with my full name. I'm regretting ever telling you it…"

"And I thought you'd worked with Ducky before."

House looked at Gibbs, raising an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be saying that if you'd been named after your father's first three pets."

"What's so bad about that?"

"They were a snail, a slug, and a cockroach, respectively."

"Maybe that's appropriate."

"He certainly seemed to think so."

Ducky shook his head, gesturing for Palmer to come with him. "Let's leave these two to each other…otherwise we're liable to get our throats torn out in the dogfight I can see brewing."

"So why are you talking to me instead of following Ducky?" asked House.

"Because your friend is asking for you," said Gibbs.

"And you came yourself rather than sending one of your lackeys? You seemed to have plenty of them."

"Just wanted to talk."

"Why? Unless you're looking for a recommendation for a decent barber, I can't say I can help you much," said House, with a snort.

"I need to know why your friend isn't talking."

"So… you did find something indicating a murder."

"Yeah. Your friend's brother was murdered. And your friend won't talk to anyone."

"I'm not the kind of person who you get to comfort a friend."

"I don't care."

House sighed, looking around briefly, and then faced the other man again. "If you want me to work with Ducky, I can do that. I can consult, I can help. But I'm not the kind of person who gives you a hug when you're down. Wilson knows that. He's not expecting me to come and tell him everything's alright."

"Well he can tell you that himself. Come on."

House tried to pull his arm away as the other man grabbed it, but Gibbs twisted it up behind his back.

House gritted his teeth. "Let go."

"Are you coming?"

"Let go of my arm."

"I'm not letting go until you're in a room with your friend."

House closed his eyes, suddenly breathing very fast.

"I see it's common for all Marines to roughhouse defenseless non-combatants, huh?"  
He opened his eyes, trying to keep calm.

The hand released its grip, and he sat down on the top step, hyperventilating.

----

"What've you got, Duck?" asked Gibbs, coming into Autopsy through the sliding doors.

"Well, you were correct in supposing that this was the cause of death. A coin shoved down the trachea… However, I'm curious as to how you came by the idea to *look* down the victim's throat?"

"A convicted serial killer with this MO was put on death row awaiting execution… a week ago."

"But… Jethro, this man has only been dead three days at the most."

"I know, Duck," said Gibbs, walking out.

"Ah, Jethro. Wait a moment."

He stopped. "Yeah, Ducky? You got more?"

"Just… take it a bit easy on my old student. I know you think he's being insensitive and a nuisance, but the fact that he came to the Naval Yard to be with his friend means more than you think it does."

"All it means is that he's getting in my way."

Ducky sighed, as Gibbs walked out.

He turned to the table with one Danny Wilson lying upon it, leaning close to whisper into the corpse's ear, "I'm worried that they dislike each other, but I will admit that watching the two most stubborn men I have ever met fight with each other is quite an amusing prospect."

----

Wilson sat, expression despondent, barely flinching when someone plopped down next to him against the wall of the interrogation room.

"Wilson. Calm down."

Wilson looked at his friend, and then leaned against him, pulling House's arm over his own shoulders.

House sighed, allowing the younger doctor to curl up against him.

He awkwardly rubbed his hand a bit, over Wilson's back, and then stopped, feeling he was doing something wrong.

Wilson's hand curled in his shirt, as though the younger doctor were expecting him to try and leave.

House hesitated, then, cautiously, covered Wilson's hand with his own.

----

Ducky turned to Gibbs, as they stood in the observation room. "Well?"

"Why are you so hung up on me liking this guy, Duck?"

"Because if you two get into a fight over something, blood will metaphorically—or possibly even literally—fly. Two terriers fighting over the same bone… will nearly always end in at least one dog getting hurt."

"And you don't want him to get hurt."

"I don't want *you* to get hurt, Jethro. He has an uncanny knack for seeing parts of people they would rather keep hidden… and a rather unfortunate habit of poking at those parts with metaphorical sharp sticks."

"Hey," came a voice, through the speakers, "whoever's in there, he's okay now…"

They turned, and saw House's face pressed to the glass.

Ducky chuckled, and walked to the intercom. "Thank you, Gregory."

Though the glass, they could see Wilson roll his eyes and pull House away from the two-way mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, Wilson was sleeping on a couch in a visitor's lounge, and House was down in the morgue with Ducky, going over the body another time, hoping for any clue that would show the time of death was wrong.

Gibbs had been less than happy about House being part of the case, but Ducky had assured him House would be of assistance.

They finally did find something…but it didn't have to do with time of death.

House turned around, as the door to Autopsy slid open.

Gibbs, the two agents who had come to Princeton Plainsboro, and another one, this one a bit pudgier, came in.

"Anything on time of death?"

"I'm afraid not, Jethro," Ducky said, turning away from the body. "But we did find something… Gregory found an anomaly in the tissue samples… if you look at the cellular structure of the lining of the esophagus… the word derived from the Latin, oesophagus, which derives from the Greek word oisophagos meaning "entrance for eating"—" Gibbs gave him a look, "—but I digress… the lining of this young man's esophagus is irritated and inflamed. I was just about to send a sample to Abby for testing, but my best guess is that he vomited fairly soon prior to his death."

"And this tells us what, Duck?"

"Well, that he vomited."

"You called us all down here for this?"

"Ah, no. His blood work came back, showing high levels of alcohol, and opiates. Again, Abby should test the levels of the various chemicals, but it is quite possible that he overdosed."

"So you got cause of death wrong?" asked the pudgy agent.

"Not wrong, Timothy, so much as incomplete. He did die of asphyxia, but judging by the lack of trauma and defensive marks… coupled with the inflammation of the esophagus…"

"What, Duck?" Gibbs asked, impatiently.

"He was probably unconscious and already dying when whoever it was shoved the coin down his throat," supplied House.

"We'll have to check the lungs for traces of infiltrates, but it's likely that he had aspirated vomit, and was choking to death quite on his own."

Gibbs looked at the three agents. "Ziva, McGee, ask at any bars near where the body was found if they saw him the night he died. Tony, ask around Metro, find out where he might have gotten the drugs. You, come with me."

House raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I understood what you were talking about without a translation into normal English, and I want someone there to know what whatever Abby finds means."

House looked at Ducky, who nodded, smiling. "I'm sure you'll find Abby quite a fascinating person."

"You said that about him," House said, jerking his thumb at Gibbs.

Ducky gave him a look, and House sighed, turning to Gibbs. "Fine."

----

Abby smiled as Gibbs came in, spinning around, and then blinked when she saw House. "Ooh, who's your friend, Gibbs?"

'_Ducky's old student. He's an asshole. Ignore him_,' signed Gibbs.

Abby chuckled. '_He's kind of cute, though. He's scruffy. I like scruffy_.'

Gibbs gave her a look.

"Right. Getting back to work."

House tapped Gibbs on the shoulder, as the Goth put various images up on the screen and turned back to them, ready to speak.

"What?"asked Gibbs, turning to look at House.

'_I prefer the term bastard, thanks_.'

Abby smiled, covering her mouth, and said, "I'm glad you showed up, Gibbs, I was starting to wonder whether you wouldn't know I had something."

"I came to give you two samples to run."

Abby blinked, taking the vial and jar Gibbs handed her. "Okay, but stick around. I've got some results, too."

She stared preparing the samples to run through the mass spectrometer. "I ran the DNA Ducky pulled off the victim's pants. It was male, but didn't belong to the victim."

Gibbs looked less than happy about that.

"What? You look like you're about to murder someone, Gibbs."

"The serial killer's victims were gay servicemen matching the victim's description, Abby. They got the wrong guy."

"Well…couldn't it be a copycat?"

"The fact that the victims were gay was never released."

"…Oh."

The mass spectrometer beeped, and Abby put the results up on the screen.

"The first one, the tissue sample, has traces of hydrochloric acid, potassium chloride and sodium chloride… stomach juice. There's also traces of methylcephalin and cephalin…"

"Ipecac," supplied House.

Abby flashed him a smile. "Right."

"Translation?"

"Somebody made him throw up," answered House and Abby at the same time.

"Why?"

"With the blood levels of alcohol and opiates Ducky found in the blood work, someone could have easily been able to tell he overdosing and been trying to save him."

"And then killed him?" said Gibbs, frowning.

"It could have been two different people. The vomiting happened at least an hour before he died," suggested Abby.

"But he still would have been unconscious, with those blood levels," said House. "If someone was trying to save him, they would have taken him to a hospital."

"He could have had a tolerance, been a regular user."

House shook his head. "The victim was clean of opiates and alcohol at his last drug test, which was six months ago. No way someone builds up that much of a tolerance in six months. If someone was trying to save him, they were either really, really stupid, or—"

"—Really ashamed."

They all turned around and saw McGee standing in Abby's doorway with a man in a Marine uniform.

"And didn't want anyone finding out that they'd had a man in their bed," said the Marine, John Croft by his nametag.

"Boss, he showed up at the front desk when Ziva and I were leaving. Said he wanted to talk to you, knew the victim's name and where he'd been found. I tried to get him to wait, but he wouldn't."

Gibbs looked the man over. "You knew where he'd been found?"

"I left him there, Sir," said Croft. "It was a public place. I thought… I thought someone would find him and call 911. I never thought… he was breathing. I left him breathing, on his side. I never thought he… The news said asphyxia… I'm your murderer, Agent Gibbs. I didn't give him those drugs, but what I did was as good as if I had."

"He didn't die of an overdose, soldier," said Gibbs. "He was murdered. And not by you."

The mass spectrometer beeped again, and Abby put the results of the blood up on the screen.

Hydrocodone, acetaminophen, ethanol.

Abby frowned. "Ten to one ratio of acetaminophen to hydrocodone… I should know what that is…"

"Vicodin."

Abby looked at him. "You're good at this."

He shrugged, shaking an orange prescription bottle. "It's not nearly so impressive when I've got a bottle of it that says the ingredient ratio on the label."

----

"Dr. Wilson?"

Wilson sat up, biting his lip. "Hi…"

"I'm special agent Timothy McGee. Agent Gibbs asked me to check on you, see if you need anything."

Wilson shook his head. "Um… no… just directions to a vending machine?"

Agent McGee smiled. "Sure."

"And… has House gotten himself locked up, or something? He's… kind of bad with authority figures…"

"The last I knew, he was assisting Ducky in autopsy, but I can find out where he is now if you want?"

Wilson shook his head. "No, that's okay… if he's being useful, he probably won't get bored enough to get himself in trouble."

McGee chuckled. "Okay. Follow me, I'll show you where the vending machine is…"

They were walking to the vending machine, when the elevator doors they passed dinged open.

"Why are you following me?" asked Gibbs, as they walked out of the elevator.

"I don't know how to get back to the morgue," answered House.

"Well go ask someone."

"Yes, I got up to some random person in a government agency and say "Hey, where do you keep the bodies?" That'll work well."

"Then don't phrase it like that."

"And what should I phrase it like? When I worked with Ducky, people weren't allowed into morgues just by asking."

Gibbs stopped, turning around to glare at House, who had fallen a few paces behind thanks to his limp. "You want to watch the interrogation."

House smirked. "Not as dumb as you look, are you?"

Gibbs glared at him. "Just because you used to be Ducky's student does not mean you're…"

House raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," Gibbs said curtly. "You want to watch the interrogation? You can be part of it. Either you can get the truth about where and how the victim got the drugs, and who else knew he was gay, or you can shut up and go bother Ducky."

House smirked.

Wilson hid a smile, while McGee stared, apparently surprised.

"Gibbs never lets anyone he doesn't know do the interrogation."

"House is remarkably good at annoying people into doing what he wants of their own accord."

"Yeah, but he's going to lose… Ziva and Tony already tried to get the guy to talk."

Wilson smiled, again, a little bit.

"You'd be surprised."

----

"Aren't you a lab tech?" asked Croft as House limped into the room. Gibbs followed only a few steps after and took a seat in a chair in the corner, just to observe.

"No," House said, ignoring Gibbs entirely, "I'm a doctor. I've been helping do the autopsy on Daniel."

"They're sending a doctor to interrogate me?"

"No. Well, that's not why they decided I should talk to you. You're what… around fifty? Those bars on your chest mean you served in the Vietnam War. You must've been… seventeen? Eighteen?"

Croft shrugged. "Seventeen."

"Seventeen… your dad was in the military, too? A Marine?"

Croft nodded.

"Must've been hard, growing up with a Marine for a dad."

"Why? Because I'm gay? My dad didn't have a problem with that."

"Huh."

"Why are you the one talking to me?"

House shrugged, getting up, limping back and forth in front of the table. "I'm a diagnostician. Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"A diagnostician is a person who solves puzzles. I look at what's wrong with a person, and I diagnose them, I figure out what disease that person has. I look at their lab results, their symptoms, their life, their home. I look at a file, and figure out its secret. You are a file to me, Jack. I'm going to solve your puzzle."

"John."

"Whatever. I'm not going to be talking to you much longer, anyway. I'm supposed to find out where your lover might have gotten the drugs. How long were you and Daniel together?"

Croft blinked. "You just said you were trying to find out where he got the drugs, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," said House, sitting back down with a slight groan. "Your dad really didn't have a problem with you being gay?"

"No. He didn't."

"Did he know you had a lover?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. Just curious."

"Why?"

House shrugged. "My dad was a Marine. Wanted me to be ready to be shipped out by the time I graduated junior high. Did your dad do that? Turn life into basic training?"

"No. My dad was great."

"Huh. He still alive?"

"Yes."

"Mm. You live on base… you have a family?"

"Daniel was my family."

"Huh. But you lived on base. Was it not that serious, between you and him?"

"It was serious."

"Your dad doesn't know you're gay, does he? You only figured it out about… oh, say, seven months ago. Enough time for that tan line from your wedding ring to be just about gone. You used to be married."

"So? That's in my file."

"Hmm. Well, they haven't let me see your file. Did you tell her, why you were leaving?"

"I told her… there was someone else."

"Did she know it was a man?"

"No. I couldn't tell her that… she would have freaked out, told everyone."

"Huh. Or killed him."

"What?"

"I've got this friend. Been married three times. Every time he gets a new girlfriend, his first one always checks up on who she is, even though they haven't been married in well over fifteen years. Funny thing is, this friend of mine moved in with a guy a couple of years ago. She was a lot madder that time than any other of the times before. She tried to my friend over the head with a seven iron."

Croft looked away.

"So is there any way she could have found out who he was? You tell a mutual friend?"

"…Yeah. Martin Stevenson."

"Good. Now should I get you a cup to pee in?"

Croft stared at him. "What?"

"When I was walking back and forth, the way you tilted your head, and the way your pupils reacted when you followed me—when the light changed. Your pupils are more constricted than they should be. That tells me you're on opiates, currently. The way you tilted your head, and followed my movements, never taking your eyes off my face; that tells me you're having trouble hearing. Maybe not enough for you to notice, but enough for you to unconsciously compensate. Hearing loss is a symptom of long term use of something with both Hydrocodone and acetaminophen in it… this, for example."

House spilled the Vicodin out of his bottle onto the table, hiding the label.

"You went through my car?! You had no right…!"

House smirked. "No, actually," he showed Croft the label, and scooped the pills back up into the bottle, "but I'm sure they won't have any trouble getting a warrant to do just that."

----

House smirked, as he turned, looking at Gibbs, in the corner.

"I win."

Gibbs looked at him, and then touched his fingers to his ear, listening to what whoever was on the other end of the earwig he had on was saying. He nodded to House, who followed him out.

"This guy's ex-wife works for metro PD, she had access to the serial killer files," said DiNozzo, who was waiting for them in the hall.

"So she could have tried to make it look like it was the serial killer," said House, as DiNozzo left.

"Yeah. Can I ask you one question?" asked Gibbs.

"What?"

"That friend… Wilson?"

"Yeah."

"What was his wife's name?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the golf club."

"Diane."


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson looked up, as the door to the visitor's lounge opened, and familiar footsteps came in.

"Your brother was gay. He was killed by his lover's ex-wife, and the murder was made to look like a serial killer did it, but they didn't. That proves intent and premeditation, which means we've got her on first degree murder. They're going to pick her up as we speak."

Wilson blinked, slowly, at his friend.

"House," he said, quietly.

"Yeah?" asked House, coming into the room and sitting on the couch by the younger doctor.

Wilson scooted over, so he was close to his friend. Then he leaned, resting against the older doctor.

House sighed, and simply sat, awkwardly, and allowed his friend to lean, as Wilson started to cry.

----

House sighed, lying back on the currently unoccupied autopsy table.

"She's had four days to get ahead of them."

"Gibbs will find her, Gregory. He always does."

"You've really got a lot of trust in that guy, huh?"

"I've worked with him for six times longer than I worked with you."

House looked at the older doctor. "Huh."

Ducky stopped, and looked at him. "Huh what, Gregory? Agent Gibbs is a good man. Just because he was a Marine does not mean that he is not deserving of my trust. Or yours, for that matter, though I doubt you'll ever give it to him. Now if you don't mind, I have to finish this poor fellow's autopsy, which will be easier if you perfect your imitation of a corpse by shutting up."

House snorted. "I'd have to *be* a corpse to do that, Ducky."

"Yes, well, one can only hope."

House sat up, and swiveled so his legs were hanging over the side of the metal table.

"Hope that I'll shut up or hope that I'm a corpse?"

"You'll be both if you don't keep quiet."

House laughed, quietly. "Uh-huh."

He got off the table, limping over to the shorter doctor. "You still got an opening for Assistant Medical Examiner?"

Ducky stopped, looking at House. Then he slowly smiled. "You do trust him."

House shrugged, putting on gloves. "My boss is completely non-functional because she's so caught up trying to get a baby one of my team blows stuff up, another one's dying, and the other two are only working for me because they can't get hired anywhere else. Plus, my patients lie constantly."

"Yet you left the Medical Examiner's office for a job with live patients. Do you remember why that is?"

"I got bored."

"And how am I to know you won't get bored again?"

House looked at him, steadily, unable or unwilling to answer.

Ducky smiled, shaking his head, and turned back to removing the corpse's heart to weigh it. "It's Gibbs, isn't it? You two are remarkably alike, Gregory. It's no surprise to me that you're interested by him."

"I'm interested by the cases, Ducky."

"Of course. What reason have you ever given me to think otherwise? It's not as if you've had six different jobs since you left, all working with an unorthodox boss, or at least an unorthodox staff."

House glared at the back of Ducky's head.

"But you do realize that if you work here you will be three or four hours drive from Princeton?"

"I wasn't planning on commuting."

"Your friend, Gregory. Dr. James E. Wilson, Head of Oncology, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. I hardly think he'll be able to get such a job nearby, especially on this kind of short notice."

House sighed. "He was just out of med school when we met. We've leap-frogged after each other for seventeen years, and he's the one that's moved the most. We'll survive. Although, granted, every time I move, he tends to get married again…"

Ducky chuckled. "Filling a void, perhaps?"

"Probably, but not the kind you're thinking of. The man is incapable of not having someone who needs him."

"And you are incapable of not having a puzzle."

"Hey, I never denied that.

"But what happens once you tire of this puzzle?"

"Or solve it?"

"I suppose."

House snorted. "You don't think I can figure him out?"

"I think that you should seriously consider whether the chance to do so is worth leaving your friend behind."

House looked at the older doctor.

Ducky met his gaze, steadily.

House sighed, shaking his head. "I should probably talk to him."

Ducky nodded, patting House's scrub-covered arm with a gloved—and slightly bloody—hand. "I think that would be best."

House limped to a biohazard container, taking off the autopsy scrubs.

"Ah, Gregory?"

He stopped, and looked back at Ducky.

"That is not to say that I would not enjoy your company and assistance if you did choose to take the position."

----

House sighed, limping into the cubical area where the agents were supposed to be sitting—the last he'd seen Wilson, the oncologist had been here, looking upset, with the female agent talking to him.

"Have you seen…?"

The senior field agent, and the only one there, DiNozzo growled, "He went out to lunch with Ziva."

House sighed, shaking his head.

Typical.

Apparently he didn't even need House to leave to go and get married again.

House turned around, as the elevator dinged open.

McGee came in with a woman in handcuffs.

DiNozzo got to his feet. "McProbie, you got her?"

"Gibbs did. I just found her. Gibbs chased her down when she ran."

"I would have gotten away if it weren't for–AGH." She suddenly collapsed against McGee's side.

McGee caught her. "What—"

She made a sudden movement, the handcuffs falling to the floor, and grabbed the gun out of McGee's holster before he realized she was free.

DiNozzo went for the gun on his desk, but she grabbed McGee by the shoulder, shoving the gun against his temple. "Don't move!"

The elevator dinged again, and Gibbs and Ducky came out. Then they stopped, abruptly.

Gibbs pushed Ducky back into the elevator, then mouthed something.

DiNozzo looked confused, as Gibbs mouthed it again.

Gibbs looked around the room and saw House next to Ziva's desk. At the same time, both House and Gibbs spotted the Mossad agent's gun sitting behind her computer console, within House's reach and out of the woman's view. House quickly turned back to Gibbs, and spied the movement of the agent's hands.

'_Do you know how to handle a gun?'_

House blinked, and then glanced at the woman and McGee. '_Not well enough to shoot her and not your agent.'_

"Put down your guns!"

'_Well enough to shoot without hitting anyone?'_

House nodded as everyone started to put down their guns.

'_Yes. I—' _

"What are you doing?!" yelled the woman, tightening the barrel of the gun against McGee's head. "Stop moving your hands or I shoot!"

House dropped his hands, putting his right one just an inch away from the gun.

The rest of the floor had cleared out, or were standing, watching.

The elevator door opened yet again, and Wilson walked out with David, both laughing.

The woman turned, eyes widening at the sight of Wilson. She screamed, "I KILLED YOU!"

Wilson's eyes widened as David pushed him to the floor, reaching for her holster, which was, of course, empty.

The woman let go of McGee and started towards Wilson. House grabbed Ziva's gun as the woman pointed hers towards Wilson—

A gunshot rang through the room.

House had his eyes closed, felt his stomach rolling, and hands shaking, as someone started prying the gun out of his hands. He had felt the kick of the gun going off, knew it had been aimed correctly, but…

"You can open your eyes now," said a calm, male voice. "It's okay."

He did.

Wilson was still standing, hands to his mouth, brown eyes wide.

The woman was on the floor.

There was a smear of blood on the wall.

DiNozzo stood next to him, holding the gun, watching him warily.

House gripped his cane and limped quickly away.

"You can't leave—" started Tony, but Gibbs's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"He's not leaving," said Gibbs quietly.

House made it to the end of the row of cubicles before throwing up.

Tony grimaced. "Ew."

McGee grimaced as well, and turned to Wilson. "Sorry."

Ziva looked up from checking the woman. "She is alive. The wound does not look life threatening."

Wilson knelt, shakily, and checked. "She's right. It didn't hit any… anything major… Oh, God…"

House came back over, still clearly shaken, but more under control. "She's not dead?"

"No. She's not," said Gibbs, turning back to him, '_but that was one hell of a shot for a doctor._'

In what was probably some of the most shaking-handed sign language ever, House replied_, 'Marine for a father. Gun for my thirteenth birthday present.'_

Wilson gasped, jumping back, as the woman opened her eyes and lunged at him.

She didn't get more than a few inches towards him before David had her pinned.

Wilson was looking at David, clearly in awe… and attraction.

House closed his eyes and limped away, sitting down at one of the desks.

----

"I heard the older doctor guy was going to stay and work with Ducky," said Tony, leaning back in his seat.

"The one with a chimp on his shoulder?" asked Ziva.

McGee laughed. "Chip. And, yeah, that one."

"That is too bad. It would have been nice if it were the other one," she said, a little wistfully.

Tony frowned, sitting up. "Why?"

"He is nice. Do you have a problem with that, Tony?"

Tony scowled, leaning back in his chair again. "No, no problem at all."

McGee just shook his head and went back to writing up his incident report for Melanie Croft's shooting.

----

"So…you're really quitting diagnostics?" asked Wilson, sitting by his friend on House's couch.

House shrugged. "Foreman can handle the department. They can still call me if they need to. It's three hours away, in good traffic, anyway, so I can get there if there's a real problem."

Wilson looked at him, brown eyes upset. "You're moving, though?"

"Stop looking at me like I'm abandoning you. We can still do stuff on the weekends, stay over at each other's places like we did before you got the job at PPTH."

"Just… why?"

House shrugged, tiredly. "This is the longest I've stayed in any field, any hospital, any *anything_*_. Almost ten years. And after Amber…" House paused. "I don't really want to stay here anymore."

Wilson nodded, sadly. It was true. House hated change, but he would get sick of doing one thing for too long in one place. "But… we just… we just made up. You're leaving right after I came back…"

House looked at his friend and sighed internally. "At least you'll have a chance to see that special agent lady you had lunch with."

Wilson's eyes lit up, that thought distracting him completely.

House looked away.


	4. Chapter 4

House yawned, leaning back in the chair by the door out into the hall, one hand rubbing absently over his bad thigh, trying to ease some of the stiffness from standing over an autopsy table for three hours straight.

Thankfully, he could lean against the table most of the time, or sit down and take a break, but it still took a toll.

The doors slid open. "What'd'ya got, Duck…"

Gibbs stopped. The room was empty, except for House and one dead Navy Lieutenant.

"Where's Ducky?"

"His mom had a fall."

Gibbs sighed, clearly less than pleased with having to deal with him. "Well?"

"The autopsy showed she died of a spontaneous pneumothorax. Possibly idiopathic, but also possibly caused by trauma," he stopped, getting stiffly to his feet and limping over to the table. "Here. This bruising—it's not recent, maybe a week old by the coloring, probably from a…" House gestured, as though trying to figure out himself what shape fit best, "one-by-six, or a square metal bar, something with that cross-section, but a lot of mass behind it."

"That all?"

"No. The tox-screen also showed…"

He suddenly had to catch himself on the edge of the table—he was light-headed to begin with because he'd missed lunch, and his leg felt like the muscles were trying to tear themselves free of his femur.

The tips of his ears were burning as he straightened, grip on remaining upright tenuous at best.

He didn't meet the other man's eyes, as he continued, unable to keep a slight amount of pain out of his voice. "…Evidence of the prolonged use of antibiotics."

"Which means?"

"Usually, it would mean that someone had a compromised immune system. But she didn't. What she did have was an inner-ear condition."

"An infection?"

"No, more chronic than that. But it would have upset her balance, and probably her hearing in her right ear."

Gibbs nodded, and started to walk out. He stopped, though, by the door. "Go home before you collapse."

House glared. "I'm fine."

Gibbs glared back. "I don't like you. But people work better when they aren't exhausted."

"I said I'm fine."

Gibbs came back over, clearly losing patience with the doctor.

"Ducky's already got to deal with his mother falling; he doesn't need you hurting yourself on top of that."

"Did you actually expect that argument to work on me?"

They stood, glaring daggers at each other. House's leg was cramping worse the longer he stood in the one position, but he wasn't going to be the one who looked away, no matter how much it hurt.

Suddenly, he had to.

Because looking away and leaning on the edge of the table was preferable to passing out.

A hand wrapped around his arm, and he was unable to shake it off without overbalancing.

"I really don't care what happens to you. But Ducky likes you, and I'll tolerate you because of that. But I'm not going to put up with you if you can't manage. And refusing to go home when you need to just because I told you to isn't managing."

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't care enough about what you tell me to do to bother doing anything in reaction to it."

He started to try and move to the chair by the door, and the hand continued to grip his arm as he started to try and walk, half holding him up.

House was acutely aware of how pathetic this was, that the man he was arguing with that he was fine was having to help him walk to a chair.

They had almost made it there, when his bad leg buckled completely.

Gibbs stared hard at him. "Right. Then why won't you go home?"

House gritted his teeth, and tried to hop further towards the chair, but stumbled and almost fell, hand holding him up or not.

"Have to wait for a funeral home to pick up another body. Palmer left when Ducky did. He's terrified of me."

"I can't imagine why."

House snorted, painfully, as they managed to reach the chair, and he sat, swallowing moan of pain as he straightened his bad leg out in front of him.

Finally, the other man left, leaving House to sit and try to calm the spasms ripping through his bad thigh.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Dammit.

----

_A month or so later…_

House yawned, perching himself on the empty autopsy table, while he watched the funeral home people—Chris and Marcus, from Final Sleep funeral home—take a body bag out the back door.

The front door slid open, and Palmer came in, looked around furtively, and walked in a beeline for House.

House raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"You're a word-famous doctor and I'm a student coroner but that doesn't mean you're better than me," he said in a rush, "and I resent the fact you're acting like it does."

House smirked. "I know."[SS1]

Palmer blinked. "You know… wait, what?"

"Been waiting for you to say that since I got here. I'm not going to respect you if you don't respect yourself enough to say you deserve respect."

Ducky, who had been standing at the back door, after signing off on the body transfer, smiled a bit, and closed the door loudly, making Palmer jump.

Things went significantly smoother in autopsy, after that.

----

Abby grinned, as she walked into autopsy. "Ducky, I finished running the blood you gave me—"

House was there, sitting on one of the autopsy tables, and Palmer, pulling off his gloves, but Ducky wasn't.

"Where's Ducky?"

"He's at lunch," said Palmer, finishing taking off his autopsy scrubs, and then going to the sink to wash up.

Abby pouted. "He said he wanted these as fast as possible and then he went to lunch? That doesn't sound like Ducky…"

"I think that secretary from legal might have been involved in the lunch plans," said House, wryly.

Abby grinned. "Oh. Well, here's the results on the John Doe."

House nodded, taking the file.

She didn't let go of it. "We could have lunch plans sometime too. Hi Gibbs." She turned around, smiling. "Ducky's on a date."

Gibbs nodded. He seemed ticked off about something. "You have an ID on that John Doe yet?"

House shook his head. "The uniform was from a Petty Officer Second Class, but neither his DNA nor prints are matching anything in the armed forces registry, NCIC database, or any other database I could think to search."

"Me neither, Gibbs. None of the usual registries are getting any matches."

"Well then go find something unusual to search."

"Aww, Gibbs! I was going to have lunch with House."

"Have lunch with Palmer."

Abby glared at him. "What's your problem today, Gibbs?"

"At the moment?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Palmer quickly finished drying his hands, and followed hopefully after her.

Gibbs looked at House, steadily. "Stay away from her."

House glared back, glad that, this time, he was already sitting.

"Why? She's smart. She's capable. She can't make her own choices?"

"Not if the choice is a drug addict with a criminal history."

"Tritter."

"I had a nice chat with the detective, yes. I didn't say anything because it wasn't technically legal. But leave Abby alone. It's against the rules to date a coworker, anyway."

"Wilson's wanted for assault and destruction of property; you didn't seem to care about that. And like you care about rules."

"He wasn't talking about going on a date with Abby. And it's *my* rule."

"He's dating Ziva."

"Ziva's a trained assassin, she can handle an oncologist that got in a bar fight twenty years ago and hasn't had a charge against him since."

"I get that you have some sort of weird surrogate father thing going on here—"

"Stay away from her!" It was a roar, more than a yell.

House flinched back, rather violently.

That was wrong…

Yelling like that was supposed to scare House more than disciplinary action against dating a coworker, the way a threat of interrogation scares teenage boys more than a threat of chores. But it wasn't supposed to panic him… There was no reason for him to look panicked like he did.

"Hey," Gibbs said, realizing the situation had taken a severe left turn, "calm down."

House closed his eyes, and seemed to get some measure of control back, as he sat, consciously controlling his breathing.

"Crap," he muttered. Then he took a breath and said, "Don't worry about your precious pseudo-daughter. I was just screwing with you. I have no interest in doing anything with her besides working and talking. And she actually knows that, if you'd bothered to ask her."

He slipped off the table, and limped out of Autopsy, ripping off his scrubs as he went and stuffing them rather viciously into the biohazard bin.

"And Ducky wonders why I can't stand Marines…" he threw over his shoulder, as the doors slid closed.

'Screwing with you…'

….House had actually been enjoying himself?

Gibbs' lips curved, just a bit.

That had been him being friendly.

…or flirty.

----

"Is your old student gay?"

Ducky looked up from where he was leaning over a corpse. "Well… he never told me, but I've always suspected. Why do you ask, Jethro?"

"Why would he hide it?"

"From you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Jethro… just a theory, but I would suspect it would be because he did not want you to know."

Gibbs gave him a look.

Ducky sighed. "I really do not feel that I can tell you what reasons he might have in good confidence, Jethro. I'm sorry. He never meant for me to find them out, but he accepted that I would keep them a secret. I am not about to break that trust on reason of curiosity—even your curiosity."

Gibbs sighed, nodding, and walked out.

----

House leaned back in the chair. "So you're into her?"

"Why am I talking to you? And why are you at Ziva's desk?"

House snorted. "Because she's not here."

Tony looked up. "So you're not scared what she's gonna do if she comes back and finds you in her seat?"

"Nope."

"Then I guess you've got a death wish. She's insane—she'll kill you."

"That, or I know she's on a date and that the guy she's seeing is an expert panty-peeler. I seriously doubt she'll be back before well after midni—"

"Why are you at my desk, House?"

House shrugged, lifting his bad leg down off her desk. "McGee's has too much stuff at it."

"That does not mean you had to sit at my desk."

"My leg hurt."

"Up."

"Why aren't you still with Wilson?"

"James is drunk."

House snorted, getting up. "Ah. Someone drug him?"

"No, he just drinks fish."

House and Tony looked at her for a moment, and then Tony said, "Like a fish. Not drinks fish."

"Where is he?" asked House.

"He is in my car, I did not know where to drive him… he does not live nearby, yes?"

"He lives in New Jersey but he's staying at my place for the weekend."

"That is why he is only available on the weekends?"

House nodded. "Yeah."

"You know, Ziva, that guy just isn't right for you."

Ziva turned to DiNozzo. "And why is that, Tony?"

"He's not a creepy scary assassin."

"I am not creepy!"

"Oooh yes you are. Creepy-scary. Scary-creepy. Scary-creepy-scary!"

She gave him a look. "Go home, Tony." She then looked at House. "Where is your apartment?"

"I'll drive him."

She smiled. "Good. You can tell him when he wakes up that he does not need to try and drink more than I do to impress me."

House watched her go, darkly.

He didn't notice that DiNozzo was glowering just as much as he was.

She stopped a moment later and turned around. "I do not feel right. It is my fault that I did not stop him, it is my fault that he thought he had to impress me. I will help you take him home."

House looked at her, and then nodded shortly. "Okay."

----

Ziva sighed, as they finally got Wilson heaved up onto the couch.

She jumped, as something rubbed against her leg. "You have a cat!"

"Yeah."

"What is her name?"

"Deathcat."

"She is dying?"

"No. She used to belong to a nursing home, slept next to anyone who had a fever—inadvertently predicting their deaths."

Wilson shifted, sleepily, on the couch.

Ziva looked at the sleeping oncologist, briefly, then back at House. "You are close, yes?"

House sat on the arm of the couch. "Yeah."

"Why did you move?"

"That isn't really any of your business."

She looked at him, and sighed. "You miss him, yes?"

House looked away. "No."

She laughed. "That is the worst lie I have ever heard!"

House looked at her, irritated. "He's been married as many times as Gibbs. Either he cheats, or they cheat, because he never manages to pick a woman who he actually loves. Except recently. There was this doctor, applied for a job under me. They met, started dating. That… would have worked out. He didn't feel he had to take care of her, and I think that was the biggest reason it would have worked."

"Would have? It did not?"

"Obviously, since he's seeing you now. She and I were in a bus crash, stuff happened, she died, I didn't. He'd only started talking to me again a week or so before his brother was found dead."

"I am sorry."

"Why the hell are you sorry?"

She shrugged. "It is something people say when they hear of another's misfortune, yes?"

House shook his head. "Whatever."

"It is not right to say I am sorry?"

"Ain davar k'Zeh. Al tedag." (_Drop it. Don't worry.__)_

She blinked. "You speak Hebrew?"

"My dad was stationed in Israel for a year, so…. me'at." (_a little_.)

She nodded. "Shalom, House."

"Erev tov, David." (_Good evening._)

She left.

House snorted, and then turned to his snoring best friend. "Goodnight, moron."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

House leaned down, lowering his end of the gurney down onto the sidewalk as Palmer lowered the other end.

Ducky was already at the body, crouched down on the concrete where it had been found.

Gibbs was arguing with someone, a balding man in a suit.

----

"Um, Tony… I thought you should see this," said Abby, as Tony sat on a stool in her lab.

"Why aren't you showing whatever it is to Gibbs?" asked DiNozzo, before taking a big bite of sandwich.

"Because he might have a conflict of interests."

"How-so?"

"Standard procedure is to run any DNA found at a crime scene against the DNA of every member of personnel that was at the crime scene, in case somebody sneezed or something, so we don't start chasing our tails."

"Okaaay…"

"Well, I got a match. Specifically, between DNA from the victim and House."

"So? I think he did actually sneeze. He definitely looked like he was going to when he was by the body."

"Which wouldn't be such a big deal. Except it's not a complete match. The victim? Is House's father–or brother, but by the age father's more likely."

Tony nearly choked on the bite of sandwich he had just taken. "Wha?!" He spat his sandwich out into a trashcan. "We gotta tell Gibbs."

"But…Tony…" whined Abby, "if House doesn't know… Gibbs might have to be the one to tell him, and I think they're friends…"

"Tell who what, Abbs?"

Abby turned around, and looked at Gibbs, then at DiNozzo, then took a deep breath, and blurted out. "Tell House that the victim is his biological father."

Gibbs nodded. "He already knows."

Abby blinked. "Wait…how did *you* know that?"

"Because I told him," said House, limping in after Gibbs.

"House, I'm so sorry!" She hurried forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "That must have been horrible!"

House awkwardly eased her off. "Not really. Just 'cause I'm biologically related to him doesn't mean he was actually my dad. He'd drop by and see my mom every time my dad was stationed somewhere we couldn't follow. All he ever said to me was "find somewhere else to be", presumably so he could go have sex with my mom."

Abby looked at him, and then attacked him with another hug.

"Does your other father know?" asked Tony, frowning.

House shrugged, with a little difficulty as Abby still hadn't stopped hugging him. "He probably suspected after I told him about it when I was twelve. But as far as I know, neither Andrew nor my mom ever told him for sure."

"Then until we find something more recent, your Dad just made the top of our very short list of suspects."

----

"A world-famous diagnostician and skilled medical examiner's father is found murdered, we can't find cause of death, and said world-famous diagnostician doesn't have an alibi? Why isn't Gibbs worried?"

Ziva sighed. "The man lives alone with a cat. It would be more surprising if he *did* have an alibi, Director."

The director did not look impressed.

The door burst open, and Gibbs walked in. "Ziva."

She nodded, and walked out past him.

Shepard frowned. "I didn't tell her she could leave ."

"He has an alibi. You can stop interrogating my team."

"Funny, he says he doesn't."

"He probably thought that this agency was run by reasonable people, and that it would be a bigger deal to say if he was in a coworker's bed than not have an alibi for a death that, as far as any of us know, was a natural one."

"Who? Agent David? Is that why you rushed in here, to protect her?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment, then walked to the door, and locked it.

"No."

_Thirty-eight hours earlier…_

House yawned, rolling onto his side, away from the warmth that was up against his side.

"Where are you going?" muttered Gibbs, sliding his arm over the other man's waist.

"Wasn't aware this was a cuddling kind of thing."

"It could be."

House turned over, so he was facing the agent. "I'm not wife materiel, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah. I noticed. You're way too hairy."

House snorted and shifted a little bit closer, closing his eyes.

………

Shepard blinked, looked down at her papers, and shuffled them around with a little more violence than was strictly necessary., speaking sharply, "You can account for him all night?"

"Yes. All night."

----

McGee sighed, sitting across from the doctor. "I'm sorry about this."

House shrugged. "Like it's your idea. Isn't one of Gibbs' rules that you shouldn't apologize?"

"Uh, yeah, it is. Sorry. I mean…"

House snorted.

McGee sighed. "What is your relation to the victim?"

"Biological son. Otherwise, barely knew the man."

"The last time you saw him?"

"Like… twenty years ago? Twenty-five? I don't know… when I was a kid. Actually, no, I think he was at my uncle's funeral, about four months ago. James Wilson was there, he's got a better memory for that kind of thing, but I'm pretty sure he was there. Ziva can contact him."

McGee nodded.

"How is your relationship with the man who raised you?"

"Uh… do I have to…?"

"You need to answer the question."

"This is official. Official, meaning it doesn't go beyond the investigation."

"Of course."

"And who's behind the window?"

"Ziva and Tony."

House turned in his chair, looking at the mirrored window. "Wilson doesn't hear a word of this. Got it, David?"

The intercom crackled, and Ziva's voice carried through it: "Do not worry. I would not tell him details of any other investigation, and this one is no different."

House nodded to himself, and turned back to McGee. "He was a son of a bitch that decided I was going to be a Marine the day I was born—and decided he was going to be the one to teach me how to be one."

McGee frowned. "What do you mean by teaching you to be a Marine?"

"Well, he taught me how to resist torture when I was eight—"

Behind the glass, Tony leaned over to Ziva. "How to you teach someone how to resist torture?"

She looked at him. "Simple. You torture them."

The door to the interrogation room slammed open violently, and Gibbs walked in. "Interrogation's over. He's got an alibi."

House looked up, seemingly surprised. "I do?"

"Yes, you do. Come on. McGee, destroy any records of this interview."

McGee nodded. "Yes Boss."

House got up and limped out after Gibbs.

"You told the Director ? Why? I was fine!"

"You had nothing to do with the victim's death. You shouldn't have to tell the people you work with what you told me."

"I told you because it was *necessary*! Telling her *wasn't*!"

"It was either tell her something good or force you to tell my team something bad."

"Well great idea! Because I just told them! So now everything got told. Nice going."

McGee, Tony and Ziva stood, looking a little dumbstruck, at the two yelling at each other.

McGee turned to Ziva and Tony. "What do you think his alibi was?"

"That he was with Gibbs."

Ziva looked at Tony. "Why would he not want the Director to know he was with Gibbs?"

"Probably because they weren't just building a boat, if you know what I mean."

Ziva scoffed. "Gibbs has been married four times, Tony. Had a child."

"So was my aunt. Then she moved to Massachusetts and got married again, for a fifth time. To a woman."

"You do not seriously think that Gibbs is gay."

"Gay maybe, bisexual, more likely. But House definitely is."

"And what makes you say that?"

McGee had long since gone to find himself some coffee, or straighten his tie, or something besides get between those two.

"You never noticed how he looks at your boyfriend? How Abby flirts with him and he never flirts back?"

"How he looks at my boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Like a fourteen year old girl looks at her first crush."

"They have been friends for a long time, Tony. They miss each other, living far apart. And James is not gay."

Tony shrugged. "Maybe not, but—hey Boss. Here's the tape from the interview. I figured you'd want to make sure it got filed appropriately."

He turned around, holding out the tape to Gibbs, who took it, dropped it on the floor, and stepped on it.

"Filed appropriately," Gibbs stated.

And then he walked away.

Tony looked back at Ziva, eyebrows as high as they went.

----

Palmer looked up, as the doors to Autopsy slid open. "Uh, hi."

House looked at him. "Since when do you say hi to me?"

"Uh, well, uh, never too late to, uh, start…."

House groaned, and leaned against the wall. "Which part got out?"

Palmer flushed. "Part? I don't—"

"What did you hear, Palmer? 'Cause I'm either going to strangle whoever told you, or strangle you. Your choice."

"I overheard the Director talking to her secretary when I went to give her a file," blurted Palmer in a rush.

House sighed. That part… okay. Crappy, but less so than the part from the interview.

Gibbs was the one who hadn't wanted to tell people about it—not that House was about to run around announcing it, but he hadn't cared that much, one way or another.

The only reason Gibbs telling the Director about it irritated him was because he didn't like the fact that Gibbs had felt he had to protect him.

The door slid open again, and Ducky came in.

"Ah, Gregory, you're here. The Director decided to not investigate you, then?"

"Gibbs told him I had an alibi."

Ducky smiled. "Ah, I see. Well, in that case, we can start on the autopsy?"

House nodded.

Palmer pulled the drawer out, and they lifted the corpse onto the table Palmer had gotten ready.

----

Gibbs looked up, as a shadow fell over his desk.

"Your medical examiner is the son of the victim he's autopsying?" said one Agent Tobais Fornell, FBI.

"Only genetically. He was raised by someone else."

"Yes, well that changes everything. Conference room."

Gibbs got up, and followed the other man.

"Let me get this straight. You believe him? You believe that just because you're sleeping with him, he can't lie to you?"

Gibbs snorted. "Wow, for a woman with beyond top secret clearance, someone really can't keep a secret."

"I didn't have to get told, Jethro."

Gibbs snorted. "Tobias…"

"Are you sure he had nothing to do with it?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. not least of which because I was *with* him every night for the last three months except Saturdays, when he's got a friend over that can vouch for him the same as me, and he's at work the rest of the time."

"You'd better hope that the cause of death bears that theory out. Because if it's murder, I'm going to drag that ME's ass into an interrogation room whether you like it or not. This is going to be by the book, Jethro."

----

House sighed, stretching his bad leg out in front of him, while he tapped his cane on the floor.

Palmer came out of Autopsy, and blinked. "I thought you already went home."

House nodded at the elevator. "It's not coming. I pushed the button twenty-three times. It's in use."

Palmer walked up to the doors, and pushed the button.

The doors immediately dinged open.

Palmer looked at House with a grin.

House gave him a dirty look, and started to lever himself to his feet.

Gibbs came out past Palmer, followed by the suit guy who had been at the crime scene–House vaguely remembered that he'd had an FBI jacket on at the time.

"House."

House blinked, but followed them into Autopsy.

"Well? Did you find cause of death?"

Ducky looked over from sliding the corpse back into the coolers. "Ah, yes, I was just about to call you… Gregory, I thought you went home."

"Someone was hogging the elevator," he said, pointedly.

Ducky smiled, shaking his head. "The poor man died by lead poisoning."

"He was shot, Duck? Why didn't we see the bullet hole?"

Ducky chuckled. "No, Jethro. He was literally poisoned with lead, the metal, plumbum, atomic number 82…"

Fornell was looking at Gibbs, darkly.

"Natural exposure, Ducky?"

"It's impossible to be completely sure, but most likely. The levels are not nearly as high as you would expect from an intentional poisoning. I would recommend that someone find the source of exposure to prevent others from being poisoned, but I do not think this was a murder."

"But it still could have been. How long ago would he have been exposed?"

"Oh, several months."

"More than three?"

"Certainly, at least five, for this type of damage."

Fornell turned to Gibbs.

House raised an eyebrow. "He means continuously. The blood levels can go up rapidly, but the levels we found in the liver and kidney tissues would have had to be built up over a long period of time."

"Oh."


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs groaned, rolling over.

Then he frowned, and raised his head, finding that the shoulder he was expecting it to be resting on wasn't there.

The bed was still warm, though.

And there was music coming from the living room.

He checked the clock. It was four in the morning.

----

House raised his head , as footsteps padded into the room.

"You're quieter with your shoes on."

Gibbs snorted. "You're more observant with your eyes closed."

House opened his eyes, taking his hands off the piano keys.

"How-come you're up?"

"Because you woke me. I thought we were past the part where you leave right after sex."

House sighed, rubbing lightly over his bad thigh. "It's not that. I couldn't sleep. Just wanted to calm down."

"This about the case we had today?"

House shook his head. "No. Yes." He sighed, shaking his head. "About the whole mess that constitutes my family."

"You told me he tried to make you be a Marine. That's not all, is it?"

"No…"

He leaned back a bit, against the other man's hip. "Go back to bed."

"Not until you do."

"You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you are less stubborn than I am."

Gibbs snorted, sitting on the bench. "No sheet music?"

"I'd either have to turn on the light or get my glasses; I didn't want to wake you, and you haven't given my glasses back since the last time you borrowed them."

"Ah."

House yawned, shifting on the bench. "What're you doing?"

"Sitting."

"Hmm. You want to do something else?"

House looked at the shorter man, who smiled.

Middle-aged men's smiles just shouldn't be that charming, reflected House.

"Unfortunately, I'll just not sleep the exact same way I was not sleeping before…just more stiffly."

"I've always found a good shot of brandy helped."

House looked at him. "You know, for a law-enforcement officer, you're rather unconcerned about my bad habits."

"I've been divorced three times. You maybe take more pills than is strictly necessary—but never enough to impact your job. I drink, you drink. We've both been arrested for doing what we knew was the right thing. I don't see where I have the right to criticize you—or where you have the right to criticize me."

"Well… you've shot more people."

"And you've been sued more."

"…why am I trying to win this argument?"

"I don't know. Come back to bed."

"I'm just going to keep you up."

"That's the idea."

----

House yawned, smacking the alarm clock.

The buzzing sound didn't stop.

He frowned, moving the switch off.

It continued.

Oh, crap, that was the doorbell.

And there was a male special agent in his bed.

Well… crap.

He groaned, shaking Gibbs, who shoved at him, still mostly asleep.

House shook him again, and he opened his eyes. "What?"

House put his finger to his lips, and then signed, '_My friend from Princeton is here. I forgot he was coming. He doesn't know I've ever been with a guy.'_

Gibbs nodded, yawning, and pulled the covers back over himself, clearly intending to sleep some more.

House snorted, and went to get the door.

Wilson blinked at him. "You forget I was coming?"

House shook his head, yawning. "Alarm clock didn't go off."

Wilson smiled. "Uh-huh. Whose car is that, in your parking space?"

"Mine," House lied.

"Then why is there an NCIS jacket on the seat?"

"Because I work at NCIS. When did you get so dumb?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, walking in past his friend. "Your jacket says medical examiner on it. This one says special agent."

House groaned. "Oh, come on. You don't seriously think I'm sleeping with your girlfriend."

"Then who are you sleeping with?"

Wilson seemed more interested than suspicions, which was good.

"There's a team one row over from your girlfriend's desk, with a hot blond in it."

Wilson frowned, trying to remember. Then he grinned. "Can I meet her?"

"Still asleep, and she's kind of a grouch."

Inside the bedroom, Gibbs snorted.

"So, you wanna get dressed? I'll make you and your girlfriend some breakfast."

House grinned. "I've got stuff for pancakes in the cupboard over the fridge."

He went into the bedroom, quickly closing the door behind himself.

Gibbs grinned. '_Agent Roland is gay_.'

'_He doesn't know that.'_

----

Tony scowled, as he looked at Ziva's empty desk.

McGee snorted. "It's Saturday. You know she's with House's friend. She's not coming in."

Tony glared at McGee. "Mind your own business, McProbie. You finish the report yet?"

McGee rolled his eyes. "I just have to put all the files together."

"What are you waiting for? Go do it, McPaper-pusher."

"I need the autopsy record, and Ducky and Palmer have the day off and House isn't in yet."

Tony scowled again, resting his chin on his arm, which was resting on his desk.

"Probably with Gibbs…." he muttered.

"Who?" asked Gibbs, coming up behind him.

Tony straightened. "Nobody, Boss."

McGee shook his head, and turned back to the files.

"McGee."

He looked up.

"House should be in autopsy by now."

McGee nodded. "Yes Boss."

Gibbs sat down at his desk.

McGee and Tony exchanged a look, before McGee headed for the elevator.

----

"How are you going to get it out?"

"Her."

"What?"

"Her. A boat is a her."

"That's stupid."

"You call your guitar a she."

"A guitar has character. A boat is just an it."

"You've never sailed much, have you?"

"No, not really. I've been on ships before, but I never got the whole thing with boats."

"Then I've got an idea."

"Nooo…" groaned House, "I couldn't walk right for a week after your last idea…"

"Well neither could I, so shut up."

House rolled his eyes, but did set down the sandpaper.

----

"Why are we here, again?" grouched House, rather angrily.

"Because you've got the attention span of a three-year-old."

"In that case, can we go now?"

"What's the problem?"

House mumbled something inaudibly.

"What?"

House sighed, awkwardly tapping his cane on the dock, as Gibbs looked up at him, expectantly, from the boat he was standing in, which was rocking gently in the water.

"It's moving," he muttered, finally.

"Yeah, it's a boat. In the water. It's kinda supposed to do that."

"You're being intentionally dense, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just not assuming anything. You could not know how to swim, or something. Or get sea-sick."

"Or be a cripple?"

"The only actually pathetic thing about you is that you actually believe that you're pathetic."

"Shut up, Mr. Triple Divorcee sniper with crappy eyesight."

"Get in the damn boat."

"It's still moving."

"So I'll give you a hand."

"It's a three foot drop."

"You're actually not milking this, are you?"

House gritted his teeth. "Of course I am."

But it was a lame, lame comeback that fooled nobody present.

Not even the boat.

"I—"

A bunch of kids ran by, behind him. "Mommy, there's a dead guy in the boat!"

House watched them, then looked at Gibbs, and limped down to the end of the dock where the kids had run from.

He promptly wrinkled his nose at the mostly putrefied remains.

"I'm beginning to understand your dislike of boats," muttered a voice behind his ear.

"Oh my god, who are you people?!"

Gibbs and House turned around, blinking at the woman who was holding the previous kids tight against herself.

"Uh, we don't have anything to do with the body…" said House, slowly.

"Ma'am, it'd probably be best if you didn't look…"

She nodded, backing away with her children.

Gibbs looked at House. "I'm going to call it in. Can you…just make sure they don't leave or freak out too much?"

"The kids or the lady?"

"I was hoping both, but if you don't think you can handle a few kids…"

House snorted. "Kids are easy. Freaked out women, I think, is more your area."

"Oh—you do know something! Oh, god!"

"Look, lady. He's a federal agent, I'm a doctor. We're just here for the same reason you are. So calm the hell down, alright?"

She nodded.

"Mommy, I'm scared, I wanna go home…"

"Mom, is he really dead?"

The younger child, a boy, of about four, was clinging to the woman's leg.

The older one, a girl, about ten, was pulling on her mother's arm.

Gibbs sighed, closing his phone with a snap.

Since there was no hint that the dead guy was in the Navy, local LEOs and the FBI would be handling the case—meaning they only had to stay long enough to give statements and secure the crime scene.

He turned around, and blinked.

The woman was pacing, back and forth, clearly overwrought, which House didn't seem very inclined to do anything about.

But the kids, scared as they had seemed before, were sitting, eyes fixed rather intently on a coin that kept disappearing and then appearing in such unexpected places as behind the little boy's ear.

Finally, the local police showed up.

House was grouchy and annoyed and impatient and mostly just wanted to go home.

Which didn't bode well for the guy questioning him.

They were requested to stay until the FBI arrived, and House was even grouchier about that.

Actually, only Gibbs was requested to stay, but since he had driven, House was stuck there too.

House ended up watching the two children, while their mother gave a rather hysterical history of the boat in question.

Gibbs couldn't help noticing that the kids seemed drawn to the scruffy man… much to House's chagrin.

Eventually, a black SUV pulled up, and they were declared free to go.

House ended up snoring lightly against the window.

"I never would have thought you were a kid person."

House opened one eye. "How'd you know I wasn't asleep?"

"You don't snore."

"Mmm. I'm not a kid person."

"Those kids seemed to think you were."

"Four-year-olds are not particularly infallible judges of character."

"But they are pretty good at choosing someone friendly to latch onto."

"I am *not* friendly."

A smile was the only response he got.

It was infuriating, when Gibbs did that.

It was impossible to make a good comeback in response to a warm, amused smile.

Especially when that smile was rather unfortunately distracting.

Dammit.

"I hate you…" he muttered.

All that got him was a laugh.

He folded his arms, closed his eyes, and promptly started making the loudest and most annoying snoring noises that he could.


	7. Chapter 7

Wilson bit his lip, nervously, sitting down across from Ziva. "Sorry I'm late."

She smiled, and shook her head. "It is not a problem."

Wilson smiled, in return. "I had to stop at House's place, I left—"

She had stood up, and circled around the table. "Come with me."

Wilson blinked, but followed her, out of the seating area of the Café and across the street to a car.

"Um, where are we going?"

She smiled. "Someplace more fun."

----

McGee nodded, taking the forms from the table. "Thanks."

House waved without looking up from the file he was reading.

McGee turned to go, then stopped, and turned back. "Um…"

House looked up. "What? They should all be there."

"No… I… do you think your friend and Ziva… do you think it's serious?"

House snorted. "She's never going to be interested in you, if that's what you're asking."

McGee shook his head. "No, I'm not… Tony's been really annoying lately, he keeps whining about how much time she spends with your friend."

House looked at the agent for a moment, and then shook his head. "It's probably serious, but given his track record, it won't last. Then again, she's a lot like his girlfriend who died, so I guess he might feel a bit more devotion towards her than just another vagina."

McGee blinked for a moment, then nodded, and left.

House shook his head, and went back to reading the file, absently tapping his cane on the floor as he read.

It was only five minutes later, when the Autopsy doors slid open again.

It was Mr. Suit, from a month ago.

"Yes?"

"Are you sleeping with Agent Gibbs?"

"Um…who are you and why were you allowed down here?"

"I'm Agent Fornell, FBI."

"I got that from the nametag."

"Are. You. Sleeping. With. Agent. Gibbs?"

"Why the hell do you care if I am?"

----

Wilson smiled, sitting on the bench beside David. "This is beautiful."

They were on a bench, overlooking a river, boats slowly moving up and down, DC visible through the trees.

"I run here every morning, but I never stop to look."

Wilson looked at her. "You should. The view is absolutely beautiful."

She smiled. "I know. It is nice when the sun is going down—"

"I wasn't talking about the river. Or the trees."

----

"I care because if he had a conflict of interests during that last investigation—"

"I think the only one with a conflict of interest was yours."

"What?"

"You're the only one whose emotions were getting in the way of reason."

"Are you accusing me of—?"

"Of being jealous of the guy you think is sleeping with your ex? Yes. I am. Now get out of Autopsy before I call security…or Gibbs."

"I'm not his ex, Dr. House. My superior told me to find out who is. I'm not going to try too hard, but I figured if you were, it would make my job a whole hell of a lot easier."

House shook his head, and turned back to his file.

----

"And then he said it was… I don't remember what her name was, but she sits right behind your desk?"

Ziva frowned. "Agent Roland?"

"I think that's what he said, yeah."

"But she asked me to dinner three times. I think he was pulling the fleece over your eyes."

"Wool. And…why would he do that? I mean, not why would he lie to me, but why would he tell me there was anyone in his bed at all?"

"There could have been someone who he did not want you to meet, yes?"

----

House limped out of the elevator, heading towards the desk area of the team to Gibb's team's left, and handed the results of an autopsy on a Seal that had drowned during a training exercise over to their senior field agent.

Gibbs caught his eye, and he started to walk over.

The door from MTAC opened, and Director Shepard accompanied Mr. Suit started down the steps.

The elevator opened, and Wilson and Ziva came in.

House stopped, looked around, and made a beeline for the men's room.

Unfortunately, his long legs did not make up for his limp, and he didn't make it out of the row of desks before both ends were blocked off by the people he was trying to avoid.

"Gibbs," said the Director.

"House," said Wilson, at the same time.

Ziva walked to stand by Tony and McGee.

Tony looked at her. "What's going on?"

"Something that would fit on one of your American soap orchestras."

"Operas," said McGee, "and don't you have the day off?"

"I do. But he wanted to talk to House."

House stood, looking between Gibbs, Ziva, Wilson, Shepard, who had her eyebrows raised, and Fornell. He then looked at the blocked exits to the row, and decided that these were desperate circumstances, and that pity would be somewhat more bearable than the confrontation that was about to occur.

So he took a step, allowed himself to stumble, and didn't catch himself as his bad leg went out.

Unfortunately, he was a little closer to McGee's desk than he had thought, and he knocked his head on the edge as he fell.

----

The next thing House knew, he was lying on carpeted floor, with an icepack held to his head and a lot of people standing over him.

"Owww."

"That was really stupid, House," said Wilson.

"Can you tell us your name?" asked Tony.

"He just said it, moron," said House, rolling his eyes, and sitting up. "Leave the exams to the doctors. I think there's more than enough here to diagnose a concussion."

The icepack holder, McGee, handed it to him.

Gibbs gave him a hand up, gaining a slightly jealous look from the Director and a suspicious look from Wilson.

Then the room started to spin, and he passed out for a second time.

----

"Owwww…."

"You're an idiot."

"You are a fool."

House groaned. "At least make up your minds…."

A snort and a chuckle.

He really didn't want to open his eyes. He recognized those voices.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Not on the floor."

"Um… might help if you open your eyes."

"Then you'll make eye contact with me and communication will have to occur."

One laugh, one sigh.

He finally opened his eyes, and, as suspected, Wilson and Ducky were there, standing on either side of his hospital bed.

"Go home…" he moaned, "I'm fine. Finer than I would have been if I hadn't knocked myself in the head."

"You know, confronting emotions isn't *actually* harmful to your health," said Wilson, dryly.

House closed his eyes. "It is when you're involved, I swear. And the FBI guy always looks like he wants to murder me. I'm pretty sure getting shot is harmful to your health."

Ducky put his head CT up on a light box, and started to point out where there was swelling, but was interrupted by a loud clomping sound from outside the room.

House's eyes widened. "Crap. This is gonna be worse than Cameron after I got shot."

Wilson had just enough time to ask him, "What?" before the door was pulled open, and a woman in all black, carrying a black lace parasol, and in huge heavy boots charged in.

House closed his eyes, and wished he were still unconscious.

----

A few hours later, Abby and Ducky had left, leaving House alone with Wilson.

"So…you're gay."

"Not…. It's complicated."

"What do you mean it's complicated?"

"I mean, yeah, I'm attracted to guys. But there've also been some women… it's complicated."

"So…"

"What?"

"I…"

"Goddammit, Wilson. What does it matter?"

Wilson looked at him, and sighed. "It matters because…. I mean… are you attracted to *me*?"

House met his eyes, steadily. "Yeah. Again, what does it matter?"

Wilson hesitantly put a hand on his friend's arm—which House jerked away from, uncomfortably.

"It doesn't. I just… Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"To what end? You're not. It just would have made you uncomfortable."

Wilson opened his mouth, then stopped, closed his mouth, and looked away.

House was right. They were both in relationships.

There was no point in telling.

----

Wilson left in the evening—House was going to be released in the morning.

It was about a half an hour after Wilson left that Gibbs turned up.

"Fornell got assigned to find out who your ex is."

"I know. He told me."

"It's the Director, isn't it?"

Gibbs blinked. "Now how do you figure that?"

"I'm not blind, or an idiot, or autistic. And that would be about the only three things that would prevent a person from figuring that out by the way you two look at each other."

"You're not comfortable with this, are you?"

"Not really. Everyone here has a history with each other. And you seem to have a history with practically everyone."

Gibbs snorted. "Not everyone.'

"Fornell. The Director. Even Ducky."

"I don't have a history with Ducky."

"Not the kind you have with the Director, but a history just the same. And the fact that you didn't say anything about Fornell or the Director says more than if you'd confirmed what I said out loud."

"You know, I've been divorced enough times to know what this is leading up to, so I'd appreciate it if you got to the point."

"I wasn't leading up to anything. I was telling you. I don't feel comfortable."

Gibbs looked at him, shook his head, and sighed. "At least you can be direct."

"Most people call it painfully blunt and or rude, but I'll go with direct. It sounds better."

"It is better. And… you know, I was breaking one of my own rules."

"What's that?"

"Never date a co-worker."

"I wouldn't call what we've been doing "dating"."

"Oh? What would you call it?"

"Being less lonely around each other and having sex."

"Maybe I'll go with painfully blunt."

House chuckled. "Uh-huh."

"I'll leave if you want me to."

House shook his head, which made his vision spin a bit, and caused him to groan uncomfortably. "The… the part that's uncomfortable? It's not the being less lonely around each other."

Gibbs nodded, and pulled up a chair. "Okay then."

House smirked just a bit, tiredly. "Okay."

"Fornell's boss wants him to get information on me out of a jilted lover."

"Jilted? Is that even a word?"

"I take it you're not going to be reporting my every move to the FBI," said Gibbs, with half a smile.

"Unless they're talking about moves in the bedroom, which I would be absolutely delighted to recount…."

"Uh-huh. Get some sleep."

House smirked, but it was clear he really was tired—the concussion had taken more out of him than he would admit, even to himself.

"She is pretty," he murmured, half asleep already, "big, soft eyes…."

Gibbs smiled, shaking his head. "…Yeah. Sleep."

It was too bad, though he had known it was coming.


	8. Chapter 8

"So you broke up with Gibbs?"

House stopped, scowled at Palmer, and hung his cane on one of the sinks to wash his hands. "For an agency of people whose jobs depend on their ability to keep secrets, the people who work here are remarkable blabbermouths."

Ducky chuckled, coming out of the storage room with a box of gloves. "I do hope you aren't so foolish as to expect anything different?"

"No, not really. It's not surprising, just really annoying."

"Mr. Palmer, I believe Agent DiNozzo is waiting for those autopsy records."

"Uh, yes doctor," said Palmer, and hurried out.

"Gregory. Please tell me you did not give up in deference to his interest in the Director."

House shrugged. "Kinda partly. Why?"

"I hate to be one of the gossips you were just complaining about, but I really feel you should know this… she is dying. She asked me to run the tests, and I did. If you decided on your course of action thinking that it would be better for all concerned if Gibbs was with her rather than you, you should rethink your course of action. She does not wish to be seen dying."

House's eyes flashed slightly.

Ducky's widened. "Don't. Before you ask, no, I will not show you her tests. This is not your case, Gregory. I only told you so that you would be able to make a fully informed decision regarding your relationship with Jethro."

House looked at him, eyes wide and innocent. "Of course, Ducky. I wouldn't think of asking to see your tests."

Ducky gave him a dark look. "You mean you'll find a way to do your own because you wouldn't trust me to give you the true results anyway. Oh, go on with you. I'm certainly not going to protest a little bit of hope. Just don't let her know I'm the one who told you."

----

"Cynthia."

She looked up. "Dr. House. The Director isn't here right—"

"I'm actually here to talk to you, not her."

She blinked. "Um….okay. I can't leave, but…"

House shook his head. "It's fine. Just close the door."

Cynthia slowly got to her feet, and locked the door to the outside.

"What's going on?"

"The director thinks she's dying. She had Ducky run some tests, saw a doctor in Europe. I can't get the results of those tests—Ducky promised her he wouldn't tell anyone, but…"

Cynthia met his eyes. "I know. I know she's dying. What do you want?"

"I want to make absolutely sure she's got the right diagnosis."

"Why?"

"Because any other diagnosis than the one she's got is better news."

"…What do you need?"

----

Foreman blinked, looking down at the caller ID.

…House?

He picked it up. "Uh… House?"

"Foreman. I mailed a blood sample to you; it should get there sometime this morning."

"….You're a medical examiner. You've got—"

"Shut up and listen. It's not for a dead guy. It's on a live person I'm trying to diagnose."

"The facilities are mostly the same, House…"

"Yeah, except there's only three people using them here and the whole hospital there. I can't slip unofficial tests through here. So, back to my original point, shut up, and do it."

"Uh, not until I know who they're for."

"They're for me, moron. I don't remember you being this stupid. Wait, actually, I do."

"Whose blood, House?"

"Oh. Director of NCIS."

"Who can't afford to see a doctor?"

"No, who already has seen a doctor and thinks she's dying. I don't agree."

"…I'm not—"

"It's not illegal. Well, not very illegal. Maybe kinda. But I'm trying to save a life here, and you have my permission to blame Taub."

Foreman sighed heavily. "Fine…"

"Good. I need you to run a full blood panel."

"Right."

----

House limped up to the desk area. "Anyone seen Gibbs?"

McGee looked up. "Uh, yeah, he's in MTAC with the Director. Did Abby go home yet?"

House shook his head. "She's still working."

McGee got up, hurrying to the elevator.

House snorted.

"Well, I am going home," said David, getting to her feet and picking up her bag.

House watched her go, and sat on a corner of McGee's desk.

He noticed that Tony was watching her in much the same way as himself.

House tilted his head. "You like her."

"Don't you have some dead people to cut up or something…?"

----

House looked up, as the door opened.

Wilson slowly came in.

House frowned. "Why aren't you getting some right now?"

"She… broke up with me."

"Why? She really liked you."

"That's the problem…. she said she liked me too much to only see me once a week. Neither of us can move… She… I…"

House sighed, easing himself onto the armchair, watching his friend lie curled on the couch, shivering a bit in the cool room.

"So it's really over?"

Wilson nodded, silently, closing his eyes as they started to sting with tears.

"I actually thought this one was going to work out," he murmured, quietly.

"I know."

Wilson rubbed at his eyes, and then looked at his friend. "You should probably go to bed."

"Are you going to go to sleep?"

Wilson laughed, helplessly. "I probably won't be able to. But… it's fine."

House got up, and Wilson closed his eyes again, not wanting House to see the longing in them.

But then music started, and he opened them.

House was sitting at the piano, a freshly poured glass of bourbon on top of the lid.

He didn't look at Wilson, nor did he say a word, as he played.

By the time he did look up, Wilson was soundly asleep, face peaceful and unlined.

House watched him for a bit, downing the last of his bourbon, then got to his feet, gripping his cane and limping over to the couch.

Wilson stirred slightly, turning his head a bit in the pillow, then was still.

House bent down, and gently pulled the blanket by Wilson's feet over his friend.

"Goodnight, Jimmy….sleep tight."

Wilson murmured something inaudible, a slight smile tracing across his lips at the sound of his friend's voice.

House shook his head, let his hand rest briefly atop his friend's shoulder, and went to bed.

----

"Ziva," said Tony, as she set her bag behind her desk, "you don't look like you got any last night."

She looked at him, and he suddenly lost his beaming smile. "Shut up, Tony. It is none of your business."

Tony exchanged a look with McGee, then got up, and walked to Ziva's desk. "What happened?"

"He lives too far away. He—"

She slammed her hand onto her computer monitor. "Al ta'atzben otti!" _(don't piss me off)_

"I think I'm going to leave you alone for a while…" muttered Tony, backing up towards his desk… right into Gibbs.

"Oh, hi Boss. Ziva's adopted your technique with computers…"

"And people, if you don't get back to work, DiNozzo."

"Yes Boss."

----

"Ducky."

Ducky looked up, from closing the Y incision on a petty officer who had been stabbed over owing a pack of gum. "Ah, Gregory, you're here early…"

"I'm just here to borrow the whiteboard, Ducky."

Ducky frowned a bit. "We haven't even started the next autopsy… we don't need the board at least until after the external exam…"

"We don't. I, on the other hand, do. Actually, we, just not the "we" that includes you. Unless you want to be part of the "we", but you said you don't, so…"

"I don't quite follow, I'm afraid…"

House turned around, and ushered four people inside.

"Ducky, Doctors Foreman, Kutner, Taub, and Hadley. Everyone not Ducky, meet Ducky, the reason I called you all ducklings."

He pulled the whiteboard they sometimes used for figuring out the cause of death during autopsies out of the storage closet, wrote "Cuddy II" at the top, and started writing out all the information they had…which wasn't much.

Just elevated creatine kinase, and clumsiness.

"Elevated creatine kinase is usually associated with muscular damage. Why did you say the patient thought she was dying?" asked Thirteen, frowning.

"Because it's also used by brain cells, so a tumor might cause an increase, either by demand, leading to more production, or by using less if healthy brain tissue was replaced by neoplastic cells," said Foreman. "She has to think she has a brain tumor. Which isn't completely unreasonable, and whatever doctor made that diagnosis actually had access to the whole patient, so…"

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm insane and obsessive and you've been saying that since the day I hired you. I think I can take it as a given that you don't approve, and we can move on now?"

"Clumsiness could be caused by the brain, nerves, muscles or a combination," said Thirteen. "It's impossible to tell which without access—"

"Yes, you agree with your boyfriend. What a surprise. Kutner, Taub. You just going to just stand there?"

"This wasn't my idea," muttered Taub, irritated.

House looked at them all, and sighed, "I really get why Gibbs slaps people so much."

"What?" asked Kutner, frowning.

House shook his head. "Forget it. Do you have something to say?"

"Yeah. With the elevated creatine kinase, the most likely source of the clumsiness is muscle destruction. Auto-immune is most likely, but we ruled out the most likely ones…"

Thirteen tilted her head a little. "We didn't do an ANA."

House glared. "It's not lupus. Try again."

Ducky coughed, awkwardly. "I suppose throwing in my two cents wouldn't be horribly immoral…"

House turned, to look at him. "What?"

"Polymyositis."

House turned back to the ducklings. "No objections there?"

Everyone shook their heads, except Foreman and Taub, who just looked annoyed.

House grinned. "Okay then. Go tes—…"

He stopped. "Uh, I'll go talk to the patient… And, Ducky?"

"Yes, Gregory?"

"Don't let Kutner in Abby's lab. He'll probably blow it up."

He limped out.

Ducky looked at the four people standing there, and smiled a bit.

Gregory seemed to have done quite a good job of picking and teaching his fellows.

He smiled again.

…Ducklings.

"I don't suppose you all would like to assist in an autopsy…?"

Kutner's eyes brightened. "Yeah!"

----

Cynthia looked up, instantly recognizing the footsteps of the crippled man.

"She with anyone?"

"No, but—"

"I figured it out."

Cynthia smiled, and didn't protest as he burst into the director's office, much like Gibbs often did.

"I need a muscle biopsy."

Director Shepard blinked a bit. "Um… go ahead…"

"From you, not a dead guy."

"What?"

"You think you have a brain tumor, which is fatal, I think you have Polymyositis, which is treatable. Can we just skip the whole part where you ask how I found out about this?"

She pressed her lips together. "You… have been around Gibbs for too long."

House snorted. "I was an asshole long before I started working here."

----

Ducky looked up as one of Gregory's students, Kutner, came into Autopsy.

"Um…Dr. Mallard?" Kutner asked hesitantly.

"Ducky, please."

The young man nodded, walking over. He looked a little upset,

Ducky frowned. "Is everything alright?"

Kutner nodded, slowly, and then shook his head. "I… I've done autopsies before, dissections in med school. But I've never really seen…" He looked down, briefly, and then looked up. "I wanted to say thanks. I never… I never really saw this, what happens to a person… and seeing this, seeing how horrible death really is… it changed a decision I'd made."

Ducky looked at him, concerned, and then stepped forward, touching the young doctor's shoulder. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Kutner nodded.

Ducky pulled up a pair of stools. "Alright."

----

"Ziva."

She stopped, and closed her eyes. "I do not want to hear it, Tony."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and your boyfriend. I know you were really happy."

She turned around, looking at him.

Then she looked away. "The FBI is rockwalling us."

"Stonewalling. Ziva, look at me."

She did, stepping into his space.

"I am looking, Tony. What is it that you want me to see?"

He swallowed, then, taking a breath, half expecting to get stabbed as soon as his lips met hers, and murmured, "This."

He didn't get stabbed.


	9. Chapter 9

"I heard the ducklings all came down here."

House nodded, marking off a number on a form.

Wilson looked at him. "What are you doing?"

"Filling out requisition forms. They're due on Monday. I figured if I got them done this morning we could actually do something this weekend."

"You're actually doing paperwork?"

"Well, paperwork is preferable to autopsying a decomposed corpse without gloves."

Wilson snorted. "Want help?"

House shook his head. "Nah. Kinda have to know how much of each thing we go through in a year."

"Speaking of years…"

"Hmm?"

"Hasn't it been almost a year since you started seeing Gibbs?"

"It would be, except I'm not seeing him anymore."

Wilson blinked. "What? He… but I thought…"

"It wasn't him that broke it off, it was me."

"Why? You really liked him…"

"But he really loves someone else. And I…"

He stopped, and looked back at the form he was filling out. "… Need to finish this form."

Wilson gently started to ease the clipboard out of his friend's hands. "You never told me before you moved out here that you were into guys."

"Well… I… never really thought you needed to know…"

"I guess I never told you, either."

House blinked. "What? That you're…"

"House."

"What?"

"You should probably lift the pen."

House looked down.

As Wilson had pulled on the clipboard, his pen had left a thick, wiggly line running down the edge of the paper. "Dammit."

He let go of the clipboard, and capped the pen.

When he looked up, there were big, soft eyes right in front of him.

Coming closer.

"Just promise me three hours isn't too far away."

"Okay."

----

"Gregory," said Ducky, "you're late."

"Since when is that a surprise?"

"Well, since I called you and asked you to make sure you were on time."

House blinked. "You called me?"

"Yes, and got your answering machine. Where were you that was so important—?"

"I was having dinner with a friend."

"I called Jethro too, Gregory. I would appreciate it if you didn't lie to me."

"I do have more than one friend, you know."

"Two?"

"Yeah, well, it's still more than one."

"There was a reason I was trying to get a hold of you, Gregory."

"Hmm?"

"I suggest you head up to Abby's lab."

"Um…why's that?"

"Just go, Gregory."

House rolled his eyes, and limped out, getting in the elevator.

It went up past the parking garage level.

Funny, how morgues were always in basements…

The doors opened on the evidence garage, as he fidgeted with his ID, which was clipped to the waistband of his scrub pants.

"Sir, you need to get in the elevator."

House smirked—that was Carla Roland, from the cold case unit.

She could be Ziva's blonder, gayer, and more patient sister, except that she had an incredibly strong Texan accent, and used words such as "y'all", whereas Ziva had yet to attempt contractions.

He stopped.

Because the reason the man she had in handcuffs wasn't getting in the elevator was because he was staring with bugged-out eyes at his son.

"What…" John House's expression hardened. "I suppose you're the one who got me into this mess?!"

Carla was looking at House, curiously. "You've met this guy? I was scanning some old fingerprints from back in the NIS days into the system and his turned up as a match to a set found in connection with a beating, so I have to interview him. Granted, it was in a men's bathroom, so they pulled hundreds of prints…"

"You could say that I've met him before. He's been married to my mother for the last fifty years… and isn't the statute of limitations like two years on assault?" said House, with a shrug.

"The victim died. No statute of limitation on murder." explained Roland.

"What the hell are you even doing here?!" yelled John.

"I work here, Dad," said House, leaning against the side of the elevator, "which you'd know if you hadn't banned me as a subject for conversation with Mom."

They rode up, rather awkwardly, and House decided he probably knew what Abby had found so urgent to tell him.

"How'd you meet anyone here? Get arrested by an agent?"

"Helped solve my friend's brother's murder."

"Ha. Now I know that's a lie. You don't have any friends."

"James. You've met him. Several times."

The elevator opened on the main floor, and House limped out rather quickly, heading straight past the major case team's desks, making a beeline for the men's room.

Familiar footsteps followed him in, and slipped into the stall before he locked the door.

Gibbs watched House for a moment. "I recognize that guy from a photo you showed me," he said.

House sat on the toilet, leaning forward. "Why are you in here?"

"Because you just came in here looking like you were gonna freak out."

"So why didn't you leave me alone so I could freak out in peace?" muttered House, angrily.

A hand resting on his shoulder was the only response he got—and perhaps the only response he would have accepted.

Ten minutes later, he was left alone in the bathroom, standing by the sink and just watching the water run.

Finally, he leaned down, and splashed his face, taking a wad of paper towels to dry his face with, then gripping his cane and limping out of the bathroom.

Really, the only bad thing about this job was that it had to do with the Navy. And he kind of grew up with a lot of Navy people, many of whom ended up stationed near Washington.

His dads are the biggest two, but he's run into other people he grew up around.

And every goddamn time, he's gotta explain he's working here, what happened to his leg, no he never did become a Marine…

----

Wilson blinked, as House sat down on the couch next to him.

"Your leg bothering you?"

House looked at him. "Huh?"

"You haven't said more than three words to me all day. If you didn't want to see me, I might as well not have made the drive down from Princeton."

House shook his head. "I…" He closed his eyes, leaning against Wilson's shoulder. "There's just…stuff."

"What kind of stuff? It isn't like you to… well, not complain loudly all the time."

House snorted, tiredly. "Thanks."

But he didn't explain.

Wilson got up. "Let's just go to bed."

House nodded, getting up.

He staggered, though, and his bad leg buckled. He'd left his cane by the door.

Wilson didn't get there fast enough to catch him, and he landed, hard, on the floor.

Wilson knelt, holding House's shoulders, as his friend cried out in pain.

Eventually, they made it to the bedroom, but only just, and House wasn't in any shape to do anything besides sleep.

Wilson gently rubbed his hand over his friend's back, until House drifted off, exhausted.

Clearly House's reticence hadn't been Wilson's fault… he just wasn't feeling well.

The next morning, he was back to his old self, joking about Wilson's ties, and calling him an idiot.

No more leaning, falling, or utter exhaustion.

Plenty of kissing, laughing, and stealing of food.

But Wilson couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong in the rest of House's life, something that was taking a definite toll.

Yesterday, he had almost been clingy, leaning against Wilson, resting his head in Wilson's lap, bumping shoulders when they walked together.

Like he had just been too emotionally tired to care about maintaining his usual personal space.

----

House sighed, watching Wilson drive away.

He finally turned, and took out the phone that had been vibrating silently in his pocket for the last two days.

"Hi Mom. Yeah, I know they arrested Dad. No, I can't. I'm just the assistant coroner; I'm not involved in that part of the stuff. I'm sorry. Yeah, I'll pick you up in the morning. Which hotel?"

----

House sighed, as he pulled up in front of the hotel his mother was staying at.

She was there, on a bench, waiting for him, and stood when she saw him get out of the car.

She hurried towards him, and hugged him, tightly. "Oh, Greg, I'm so glad you're nearby."

House nodded, awkwardly patting her back.

She let go, and cupped his face in her hands. "Oh, sweetie…you look exhausted."

House shrugged, limping back to the car.

She touched his shoulder, as he started to step down off the curb. "Greg. I mean it. What's wrong?"

House blinked at her, and then sighed. "Can we talk about this on the way there?"

"You're not going to avoid this conversation."

"I know… I just wanna sit down."

Blythe gave him a sad look, and nodded. "Of course, sweetie."

House got in the drivers' side, and she got in the passenger seat.

"A while back… somebody found a body, and it was my turn between me and the senior Medical examiner to go to the crime scene to get the body. It was Andrew Gallagher—*that_*_ Andrew Gallagher. Standard procedure is to check any DNA found at a crime scene against any NCIS personnel who were at the scene. I ended up having to answer some questions for the people I work with, and a bunch of them had to do with Dad. Now they're investigating him—at least, they're helping the team that is investigating him…and it's just a really crappy situation."

Blythe was silent for a while.

Then, finally, she spoke, barely above a whisper, "Greg?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't… John… "

House shook his head. "There were over a thousand prints pulled from that bathroom. Dad was stationed at the base at the time. All them finding his prints there means is that he happened to take a dump."

She sighed. "Thank you, Gregory."

"For what? Telling you that Dad probably didn't murder someone? I'm pretty sure you already knew that."

"For not ending that sentence with a joke about it being possible after all."

"…Oh. Well…it's not that I don't think he's capable of killing someone. But he isn't capable of not confessing to killing someone when it wasn't government sanctioned. He's too much of a Marine for that."

Blythe looked at him, truly surprised by her son's last statement.

He… had actually not sounded completely bitter saying "Marine".

She turned back to look out the window, smiling a small bit to herself.

She had to suspect it had something to do with his job.

Which…really, was quite interesting.

House opened the door to the main entrance, nodding to his mom. "You go through that one."

She nodded, walking through the metal detector.

House nodded to Fred the security guard, touching his ID to the sensor and limping through.

The alarm went off, and he frowned, checking the date on his ID.

Then he turned around, and saw Fred waving the wand around his mom.

She sighed, pulling a box out of her pocket, opening it. "It's my husband's insignia. He wanted to have them with him."

----

They got out of the elevator, and House started to take his mom to Roland's desk, but was stopped by his name being barked out, loudly.

He pointed his mom to the right desk, and then turned. "What?"

"Got a dead petty officer in Anacostia and Ducky's out with the flu. Here's the address."

House nodded, taking the paper Gibbs handed him. "I'll get Palmer and meet you at the scene."

Gibbs nodded, and followed the rest of the major case team to the elevator.

House looked at Blythe. "I have to go, but don't worry. Roland's nice."

----

House yawned, leaning forward over the steering wheel, as they waited in the traffic jam of the century.

"We were supposed to be there an hour ago."

"I'm sorry… I swear it said turn right…."

"You've said that seventeen and a half times, Palmer."

"A half?"

"You were about to say it again, but you realized I'd Gibbs slap you if you said it again."

"Ah… yeah."

"Palmer?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't we just buy a GPS?"


	10. Chapter 10

John sighed, stretching, as he walked to the elevator, after receiving an apology for the inconvenience of being held for two days.

Someone knocked into his shoulder, rather violently—a woman, with dark, wild hair.

He shrugged it off, and continued to the elevator, only to find his path blocked by two young men, one a bit pudgy, the other thinner, with green eyes.

John ground his teeth together as he shoved his way between the two officers. This had to have to do with Greg. Typical. He never could fight his own battles.

An older man, definitely a Marine, was already in the elevator.

"Agent Gibbs," said the Marine before him.

"Uh, John House."

"I know who you are," Gibbs said. He slammed the emergency stop switch. "And I know what you did."

John glared. "I didn't kill anyone… I didn't even know the man!"

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what…"

"I'm talking about your son."

"He told—"

"He only told us when his biological father turned up dead and we had to question him. He's much too hurt to tell anyone for personal reasons. That's your fault."

"You have no right to harass me. Unless you want to arrest me?"

"Statute of limitations prevents me from doing that. But as a friend of your son's?"

He slammed the older man up against the back wall of the elevator.

"Let go of me."

"I don't think so."

----

House yawned, leaning against the wall across from the elevator.

Someone should really give Gibbs an office….

Ducky came out. "Ah, Gregory, you're still here."

"Yeah…"

"Isn't your father being released this afternoon?"

"Yeah, he is. He's gonna call a cab, I drove my Mom back yesterday."

"Ah."

House yawned again, rubbing his hand over his face. "I really hope it's Fornell or something."

"Why is that?"

"All I need is Gibbs having a "conference" with my dad…"

"Why not? Why do you feel—?"

"No. You're not psychoanalyzing me. I get enough of that from my boyfriend."

Ducky chuckled. "This reminds me of a time when I was in…."

House nodded to Ducky as the doors dinged open—saved by the elevator. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ducky."

----

House yawned, leaning back on his couch.

Wilson smiled at him. "You wanna go to bed?"

House grinned, nodding, and getting to his feet.

Wilson curled his fingers in House's hair, as the older man slid his hand over Wilson's back. Their mouths locked together, and Wilson's leg slid between House's.

House grinned into the kiss, running his hand down Wilson's chest.

Then the phone rang.

House rolled off, reaching for it.

"House…" whined Wilson, panting.

"Never be unreachable."

"What?"

"I have to answer it."

"Let the other guy answer his phone."

"The other guy's visiting his mother."

Wilson sighed, resting his chin on House's shoulder, as his friend picked up the phone.

"Aboard the what? Where's the helicopter leaving from? Okay… I'll be there in twenty minutes, maybe thirty, depending on traffic. Yeah, I'm fine with going on it, Gibbs."

Wilson looked upset. "You said yes way too easy."

"Oh, right."

"House…"

"Wilson, I have to go to the USS New Haven."

"So? What the hell difference does it matter what ship it is?" Wilson got to his feet. "If you wanted to hang out on a boat with your friend, you could have just said so."

"Wilson, wait–"

But Wilson had already stormed out.

House sighed, muttering to himself. "It's my job, not a play date…"

----

Tony scowled, standing over the body. "I don't like this."

"You don't like what, DiNozzo?" asked Gibbs, sounding annoyed. "That a Navy Officer is dead?"

"It's the political officer."

"So what, Tony?" asked Ziva. "The man is dead."

"That's my point. Hunt for Red October? First guy that died was the political officer."

"That was a Russian sub and the killer was the good guy," said House, irritated.

"Oh… yeah, good point."

"Um, Agent Gibbs?" a voice said from behind them. "We got a message for you."

Gibbs turned around, nodding.

The Agent afloat, Martin, handed Gibbs a piece of paper, which he opened up immediately.

And just as swiftly turned back to Martin. "I need to get a feed into MTAC."

"We're too far underwater. We're lucky to have gotten that transmission."

"Then surface."

"I'll have to talk to the Captain."

"Then talk."

"Sir, with all due respect—"

"There's a threat on the Director's life. Talk. Now."

Martin left.

Gibbs turned to the other four. "Ziva, get a briefing ready for Detrick's team on this case; they're going to take over. McGee, look up anything you can on someone named "Viggo Dratniev." DiNozzo, work the crime scene, get any evidence you can collected for Detrick's team. We're going back to DC to meet the Director…whether she likes it or not."

They looked at each other, and then back at Gibbs. McGee finally asked, "What's going on, Boss?"

"The message was from Mike Franks. Director Shepard called him for backup. Something happened in California. She ditched Roland and Michaels, now she's headed back to DC."

They all started to work, Tony crouching by the body and continuing to take photographs, as Gibbs walked after Martin and House inserted the liver probe.

"Who's Mike Franks?"

"Gibbs' Gibbs."

"Okay, Detrick's team is on the way," said Gibbs, coming back into the quarters the dead guy was found in. "Pack up."

DiNozzo, McGee and Ziva complied, packing away the evidence bags. When Gibbs noticed House was lingering, he raised an eyebrow.

"You too, House."

House looked up. "Why do you need a coroner to stop an assassination attempt?"

"I don't. But I might need a doctor to stop it from succeeding."

By the time the helicopter landed, someone was standing across the helipad, waiting, arms folded. He was fairly short, around Gibbs' height, grizzled and tan, with more stubble and scruff than even House had.

They all got out, ducking awkwardly down, until they were out of the downdraft from the blades of the helicopter. DiNozzo, David and McGee immediately headed to their cars, to go back to headquarters and start working the case. House had ridden from the Navy Yard with Gibbs, so he stood back as the other two talked.

"It's gonna happen today, Jethro. They got here from California yesterday. Jenny doesn't think she needs protection in DC, kicked me out," said the grizzled man.

"And you listened to her?" asked Gibbs.

"Kinda hard to argue with a girl while she's cleaning her gun and looking like Jenny was."

"Mike!"

"Don't worry about it, Probie; I left those two agents that were with her in California standing guard outside his place. I don't think anyone's gonna break in."

Gibbs didn't look happy.

The guy, Franks, frowned and gestured to House. "Who's the gimp?"

House, who'd been standing right behind the others, turned to glare at the guy.

"Assistant Medical Examiner," grouched House.

"Look more like a homeless bum than a doctor."

House snorted, looking Franks up and down. "Wow… That was *incredibly* hypocritical. Also, I've met some homeless bums with medical degrees, the two aren't mutually exclusive."

Franks turned to Gibbs. "Where did you find him?"

"Hospital in Princeton. Dr. Gregory House, former Special Agent Mike Franks."

Franks' phone rang and he picked it up. After a few muttered statements, he hung up and looked at Gibbs. "We gotta go. That was Roland—there's a van that's gone by five times."

House barely managed to keep up with them on the way to the car. He thumped into the backseat, and grimaced, rubbing his bad leg.

Situations out of action thrillers weren't meant for cripples.

----

They pulled up in front of the row of townhouses, and got out of the car.

Roland was lying on the ground in front of what House could only assume was the Director's house. He knelt by her, checking for a pulse, while Gibbs and the Franks guy hurried in the open door.

She was alive, but shot, bleeding, and unconscious.

"House!"

He got up, and limped up the steps, painfully.

Gibbs grabbed his arm, which he only didn't make a fuss about because somebody could be dying.

Gibbs pulled him down a hallway, and into a room.

There were three men lying on the ground, all clearly having met very violent ends. One was still alive, but tied to a chair.

Michaels was sitting up against a desk, blood running down the side of his face, but not otherwise visibly injured.

The Director was lying on the floor, Franks kneeling by her, holding his jacket against her shoulder, his gun in the other hand, and aimed at a living man who was clearly one of the would-be assassins.

She was awake, but barely.

House immediately knelt, rather glad that all the shooting had been finished before he was inside.

"Did someone call an ambulance?" he asked, quickly examining his boss.

"I did," said Michaels, tightly. "They should be here any minute… Is Carla…?"

"She's alive."

He nodded, tiredly, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the desk.

House looked back down at the Director.

She was unconscious, now, from the blood loss and pain, but he knew as long as she didn't bleed out, she'd be alright.

"Gibbs," House said, "hold the pressure. There's nothing we can do besides keep the bleeding down until the ambulance gets here. Roland's more critically injured."

Gibbs knelt, pressing the jacket over her chest.

House didn't think about how angry he looked, other than to reflect that it was probably good Franks was the one holding the gun to the assassin's head, not Gibbs, or else the guy would be rather deader than he was at the moment.

House got up, and limped out of the room, just in time for the nausea to hit him.

He'd have to explain why there was puke on the Director's carpet, later, but right now he didn't care.

He limped down the steps, and knelt on the ground next to Roland.

His phone rang and, he sighed, answering it, "Wilson. This isn't a good time."

"Yeah, thanks. I was calling to apologize, by the way."

"Seriously. Not a good time."

"House… how urgent can an autopsy be?"

"I'm not doing an autopsy. I'm trying to keep from having to do one on a co-worker. So believe me when I say, it's not a good time.

He hung up, as the NCIS van pulled up, and DiNozzo and David got out, and hurried inside.

Roland was stable, but in serious condition.

Suddenly, there were shots inside, and House started up at the windows, before shaking his head, and turned back to Roland.

There was nothing he could do but keep her alive. There had only been three shots, there were seven NCIS people inside. Someone would come out if he was needed.

This *really_*_ sucked.

Suddenly, Roland's breathing stopped, and he started CPR.

DiNozzo ran out. "House!"

He looked up between breaths. "Are they dying this minute?"

"I don't know, I'm not a doctor."

House shook his head. "Come here."

Tony did, kneeling on the pavement. House jerked his head towards Roland's form. "You know how to do CPR?"

DiNozzo nodded, taking over, and House dragged himself up the steps again, his leg really starting to hurt.

He knelt on the floor by the now-unconscious Michaels. "What happened? There were shots."

Michaels wasn't shot, though.

"He moved funny," growled Franks, gesturing to the only live assailant.

House shook his head, looking at the groaning assassin. "That's smart. Kill the one guy who you had in custody. Really thinking with your head. You know, there are enough goddamn dead and dying people here without you shooting more!"

A hand rested on his shoulder, gently. "Is Michaels alright?"

House sighed. Ziva, who was about the only calm one in the room.

"I think he's bleeding into his brain. Again, there's nothing I can do until we get them to a hospital!"

As he spoke, there were sirens outside.

House moved to the assassin, checking his vitals. He was stable, more stable than any of the other three. He closed his eyes, and got to his feet, limping to check on the Director.

She was still hanging on, but her pulse was weakening—she was losing blood, still.

He didn't know where his cane had ended up.

This really *sucked_*_.

There was nothing he could do, for any of them, except try and stop the bleeding.

The paramedics came in, and he told them what he knew, what he'd been doing, who was hurt worst.

They took over, lifting each living person onto a stretcher, and carrying them out.

House leaned against the wall, looking around the room, as Gibbs went with the Director, and Franks followed, leaving Ziva to secure the crime scene, and House to start to feel nauseous again.

After a little while, Tony came in as well, and started rolling out the crime scene tape, almost tripping over one of the dead assassins.

House turned away, throwing up a little in his mouth.

As he was wiping his mouth on his sleeve, his phone rang. He limped out of the room, and put it to his ear, "Wilson…"

"I'm sorry. I know you said… but are you alright?"

"Compared to half the people I work with, I'm the picture of health."

"I'm watching the news, and… they're reporting on something going on outside the head of a federal agency's house, they haven't said which one…they said shots were just fired."

House sighed, heavily. "Yeah, that'd be Gibb's old teacher shooting someone who just tired to kill said head of a federal agency."

"You're there?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm…" he started to limp out of the room, into the dining room, and leaned against the wall, "I'm not hurt."

"Are you okay?"

"…No."

Wilson closed his eyes, against the footage of police and federal vehicles pulling up in front of the building he knew his friend was in. "Is it over?"

"The… shooting's over. There's nobody left to shoot. Unless the guy writhing around on the floor somehow manages to whimper threateningly…."

"Can you come home? I'll take the rest of the day off, come there."

"No…I uh… I gotta…."

"House?"

His friend's voice was shaking, and unsteady, as he spoke again, "I gotta do the autopsies… find out who these guys were... where they're from….Wilson…"

"Yeah?"

"Can you just… can you just talk?"

"Yeah. Yeah, House. I can do that. I can talk."

And he did talk, as he watched the news, and listened to his friend's unsteady breathing.

Just after House had to hang up, Wilson watched his TV as a NCIS Medical Examiners' van pull up, and someone he knew had to be Ducky got out, followed by someone he believed to be Palmer.

A little while later, Palmer left the building, with DiNozzo at the other end of the gurney.

He watched, as three more bodies were carried out, the last one accompanied by House, and restrained to the gurney.

Wilson swallowed, when he saw his friend on the TV screen.

House was covered in blood, on the knees of his pants, on his shirt, on his hands.

Then he saw his friend's hand come up, and give the camera—give Wilson—a thumbs up. Telling him he was okay.

Wilson didn't stop watching, though, for hours, watching as the news unfolded, as a reporter stood in front of a hospital, and narrated the condition of the two federal Agents and the Director of NCIS.

Watched until they reported that the Director had died, and he turned the TV off, and got four beers out of the fridge.


	11. Chapter 11

Cuddy sighed, reaching to pick up her phone. "This is Dr. Cuddy, Dean of Medicine–"

"No kidding. There's a medivac helicopter on its way from DC with the Director of NCIS onboard. She's stable right now but in critical condition. Have Chase there to meet the medivac, and Stern or Cameron or whoever's head of the ER. And by the way, she better not be listed under the name Jenny Shepard. She's being moved so that nobody knows she survived."

"House?"

"What?"

"You don't have privileges at this hospital."

"I've been working for the US government for the last two and a half years, I'm good at dealing with bureaucratic bullshit by now, so how about we skip the pretense that you're going to do anything but what I said."

"You don't have to be that rude about it, House."

"Do you know me at all?"

"You're being worse than usual."

"You try being calm when your boss just got shot, your coworker just got shot, and your other coworker got pistol-whipped so bad he's bleeding into his brain."

"You almost sound like you care."

But he had already hung up.

Cuddy looked at her phone for a little bit, then shook her head, and picked it up to make the arrangements.

----

Gibbs sighed, sitting down at his desk. "The woman Mike says the Director saw in California was an assassination target Jenny was supposed to have killed years ago in Paris."

DiNozzo looked around, and then scooted his chair in towards the middle.

"So, there's a woman Director Shepard was supposed to kill years ago… and she thinks she successfully had Jenny assassinated…"

Ziva scooted her chair over. "She will most likely leave the country, now that she believes her target has been terminated."

"I don't think so. She knows what can happen when you don't verify your kill. She's alive because of that," said Gibbs.

"But she'd have to leave her job. She'd be too easy to trace—she's a CEO," said McGee, pushing his chair around his desk.

Gibbs banged his fist on the desk. "How is that supposed to help us?!"

"Uh, I don't know, Boss. I just…"

"You just what, McGee?!"

"Sorry. I mean—"

Gibbs pushed himself up, angrily. "Well *somebody* better find something or else hiding the Director won't have done squat!"

He stalked off to the elevator, and punched the down button violently.

----

"Tell me you have something!"

House looked up as Gibbs stormed into the morgue, as did Ducky and Palmer. Each of them stood at one body.

Ducky stepped forward. "Jethro, we're going as quickly as we can, but we haven't even finished the external exams. We won't have anything for a good while."

Gibbs scowled. "House, you're with me."

House glanced at Ducky and Palmer, then stripped off his gloves, gripped his cane, and followed Gibbs to the elevator.

The doors closed behind them, the elevator started to move, and Gibbs slammed the emergency stop switch.

House watched him pace restlessly in the small room, and then sighed, leaning against the wall. "Go ahead."

Gibbs looked at him, turned around, slammed his hands against the wall, yelling in frustration and anger and fear and grief.

House watched passively. "What have you got?"

Gibbs glared at him. "Three injured friends, an unconscious assassin, and no case!"

House was unmoved. "I said "what have you got", not what's giving you a temper tantrum."

"Three medical examiners that can't do their jobs fast enough—"

"If you just wanted to yell, you could have stopped the elevator without me in it and just yelled at the wall."

Gibbs sighed, turning to look at him, and then looking away.

House tilted his head to the side. "What have you *got*?"

"Nothing."

"And what is standing around yelling at people doing to change that?"

"Nothing."

"So shut up and go find something."

"Like what?!"

"I don't know! But stop thinking with your heart and start thinking with your head! The woman you love is hurt, and you think you could have stopped it. It sucks, I'm sorry, get over it! You're a Marine, people die in combat all the time, you can't take time to cry when everyone else is depending on you! Suck it up and get your head back in the game!"

Gibbs looked at him, surprised out of his anger.

House looked a bit uncomfortable with what had just come out of his mouth, scuffing the rubber tip of his cane with his blood-stained sneaker, no longer meeting Gibb's eyes.

"You just sounded like a Marine."

"I was raised by one, remember? I know what gets through to you nut jobs. And I'm serious, you need to stop thinking with your heart, and start thinking with your head—or at least your gut. I know you're upset that the Director is hurt, but until that woman is caught or dead, the Director is in danger of being worse than just hurt. And I know you'd be insufferable if that happened on your watch."

"I had a kid."

"I know."

"You know?"

"You don't look at kids and families like you do if you never had one. You can't miss something that bad if you've never had it. I know you had a family, and judging the fact you brought it up when I mentioned if Jenny got killed on your watch, that your family got killed, probably while you were deployed. But you're not deployed this time, you're here, and you're Gibbs. Get it together, get back to the team, and smack them all on the back of the head. Then say you're sorry, because it's not a sign of weakness when you've been an asshole and they deserve the apology. And then get your ass back to work."

"…."

"And let me get back to my work." With that, House turned the emergency stop off.

Gibbs turned it back on.

"House—"

"Save it."

"I'm sorry."

"I said save it. We've got work to do."

Gibbs shook his head, and laughed a little, turning off the emergency stop.

----

Jenny Shepard slowly opened her eyes, squinting under a bright fluorescent light.

She turned her head to look around, and found two armed guards outside the door to the hospital room she was in, and a doctorly person in a chair beside the bed.

He was fairly tall, she could see that even with him sitting down, with warm brown eyes currently fixed on a book he was reading, big, bushy eyebrows, and an incredibly ugly tie.

"Are you my doctor?"

He raised his head, shutting the book, and gave a little, nervous smile. "Uh, no… I'm not. Are you alright, do you need more pain meds?"

"No, I'm fine. Who are you then?"

"James Wilson. Uh, I'm the head of oncology. House arranged for you to be transferred here, secretly. According to the news, you were assassinated in your house last night, managing to kill all four of your attackers."

"Who are you?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Wilson blushed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm… House's partner. Boyfriend. Whatever you want to call it."

She smiled at him, though the thin lines around her eyes were a little deep with pain. "I've been hoping to meet you," she said, her voice soft and friendly, "though I supposed I never imagined it would be under these circumstances."

Wilson managed a nervous smile, still rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm… glad to meet you too. Is… I know this is… I just… Is he going to be safe?"

She nodded, smiling again. "Gibbs is bound to stay with him if he has to leave headquarters. He'll be fine."

Wilson nodded, dropping his gaze.

"James?"

He raised his eyes, to meet gentle brown with gentle brown.

"Gibbs will figure this out. He'll catch the woman behind this."

Wilson nodded, but didn't stop fingering the white pill-bottle cap in his hands. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Um… I know this is random… but what kind of boat is the USS New Haven?"

"It's a Los Angles class submarine… Gibbs' team was just called out there two days ago…. Why?"

Wilson shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck.

House hated submarines—there was no headroom, they were never level, they had bars across doorways practically designed to trip crippled Medical Examiners, there was no privacy, and there was no room for a personal bubble, especially one as large as House's.

God… House had tried to explain, but he'd stormed out, so quick to assume the worst of his friend… when he was the only one of the two of them that had ever cheated on anyone.

He would really have to make it up to his friend.

Tony, Ziva and McGee looked up, as the elevator door finally opened, and Gibbs stepped out, leaving House inside to ride the elevator back down.

Gibbs looked his team over. "You three, get some rest. We aren't going to have an answer right away, not until Abby and House and Ducky finish, or the assassin wakes up. Go home, go to sleep, but keep your phones next to your beds."

"Yes Boss," said Tony, standing up.

Gibbs nodded, and walked to his desk.

When he looked up, Tony was still at his computer, Ziva was leaning over his shoulder, pointing at something, and McGee was doing something on his palm.

"Now!"

They looked at him, looked at what they were doing, and sighed.

Tony got up, pulled a pillow out of one of his desk drawers, Ziva walked across to her desk and pulled a blanket out, then walked back over to Tony's desk.

McGee got up and walked to the elevator, pushing the down button.

Gibbs watched it stop on the basement level above the parking garage—Abby's lab.

He shook his head, almost laughing a little bit.

----

McGee walked into Abby's lab and found House there, which wasn't unusual if Abby had lot of stuff to go through.

"Gibbs told us to sleep," McGee said.

Abby nodded, tossing him a purple hippo that farted when he caught it. "The futon's next to Major Mass Spec, Timmy."

McGee nodded, carrying it over into the office part of the lab, the hippo farting repeatedly as he carried it.

Abby turned back to House, who was going over one of the dead assassin's clothes with a magnifying glass—and reading glasses.

"So we're looking for where these guys have been, not so much who they are," asked House, setting down the shirt and picking up the pants.

"That's right," said Abby, "we already know from the tats you and Ducky found that they're all Russian, but that doesn't tell us anything about where their boss is."

"Knees and cuffs of their pants, and the bottoms of their shoes, then."

Abby smiled. "Yeah. And the cuffs of their jackets, and the seats of their pants."

House nodded, turning the pants he was looking at over. "Got wood in this one…"

He pulled it out with a tweezers, and dropped it into an evidence jar.

"Got some mud scrapings here… they're gray… disintegrated limestone or shale, most likely. That doesn't tell us much—it's all over the DC area."

"Got gum… lots of stuff stuck to it."

Abby came over, and House moved to the next pile of clothes.

----

Ducky sighed, leaning over the body of Viggo Dratniev. "I'm afraid, my poor fellow, that you and your confederates are… I suppose the American expression would be "messing with the wrong guy". Agent Gibbs will find your employer, and bring her to justice. And you will help me find her for him."

"Uh, Doctor?"

Ducky looked up. "Yes, Mr. Palmer?"

"I think I found something…"

Ducky walked around, to lean over where Palmer was pointing.

There was a sliver imbedded in the man's palm.

Ducky nodded. "Get this down to Abby. And get yourself some coffee while you're gone, I'm afraid this is going to be a very long night."

Palmer nodded, and left with the evidence jar. "Yes Doctor."

----

House and Abby turned around, startled by the sound of a dog barking behind them.

McGee sat up, and held his phone to his ear.

House looked at Abby, eyebrow raised. "Why's he got a dog barking as his ringtone?"

Abby smiled. "That's not any dog, that's Jethro."

House snorted. "He named his dog after Gibbs?"

"No, I did. It's a long story."

House shook his head, getting back to work.

McGee turned back to Abby and House. "The assassin woke up, and we're going to the hospital to interrogate him. House, he wants you to come."

House looked at Abby, sighed, shrugged, stripped off his gloves, and followed McGee out.

Gibbs was waiting for them in the elevator, and pushed the emergency stop as soon as the doors closed. "They said there has to be a doctor present for the interview."

House looked at him, frowning. "I'm… not gonna watch you torture him, Gibbs."

"No, you're not. You're going to stay in the room while Ziva does some very convincing things to him, but doesn't actually touch him, and you aren't going to stop the interview when his blood pressure goes through the roof because that's what being interrogated by Ziva does."

House met his eyes for a while, and then slowly nodded. "That I have no problem with."

Gibbs turned to McGee. "You stay and help Abby until we get back."

McGee opened his mouth, but Gibbs quickly said, "It's important, McGee. The chances of this guy even knowing anything, much less telling us, are pretty low."

McGee nodded.

Gibbs turned off the emergency stop, and the doors opened again, allowing McGee back into Abby's lab.

Then they rode up, part of the way, before Gibbs pushed the emergency stop again.

House looked at him, shifting his weight repeatedly.

"She's not going to hurt him. Just scare him."

House shook his head. "I'm not uncomfortable with what I'm supposed to do."

"Then why are you moving around like that?"

"I'm just plain uncomfortable."

"With what?"

House shook his head, impatiently, but also embarrassed.

Gibbs sighed. "The submarine mission… Jenny's house… this… you've barely gotten a chance to sit down."

"I'm fine. I told you, just uncomfortable."

Gibbs nodded. "If you aren't up for this—"

"I'm up for it," House snapped suddenly. "If you think just because I'm in a little pain, that I can't handle enabling an interrogation with one of the guys who put Roland, Michaels, and the Director in the hospital—"

Gibbs nodded. "Good. Just checking."

House snorted, a bit angrily, and turned the emergency stop off, glaring at the back of Gibbs' head as they rode up.

He reflected, though, as the elevator rose, that he'd really screwed up, working here.

He actually gave a damn about these people.

And even worse than that, he sometimes let it show!


	12. Chapter 12

They stopped for coffee, on the way to the hospital, Tony and House riding in the back of the van, Ziva in the front passenger seat, and Gibbs driving…which…wasn't particularly pleasant for Tony and House.

But it also proved advantageous for Tony, for when Ziva had woken up, his hand had unconsciously been over her breast, and despite the fact he had been asleep at the time, she was still threatening to murder him.

----

Tony scuffed his foot along the baseboard, as he and Gibbs waited outside the room for Ziva to do her thing.

After not too long, the door opened and Ziva came out, followed by House. "She is hiding in an abandoned fish warehouse in Baltimore. He does not know the address, but he said it was near here." She handed Gibbs a piece of paper.

Gibbs nodded. "Let's go."

"How do we know it's not a trap?" asked Tony, as they hurried to the elevator.

Gibbs shook his head. "We don't."

"Then we should do surveillance," said Ziva, "to make sure that she is really there."

Gibbs nodded. "We should."

Tony rolled his eyes. "But we're not going to."

"There's no time, DiNozzo."

----

Abby frowned, eyes fixed on the screen, showing the particulates scraped off the bottom of one of the assassin's shoes.

"Sawdust. So either this guy was in Gibbs' basement…or he was near…some place that has wood."

She groaned, leaning forward over the keyboard. "We're not getting anywhere, McGee."

"I know… but there's been wood in their pants, one of their hands, and now the bottoms of their shoes, that's the only common denominator we've found. Let's see if we can figure out what kind of wood it is."

Abby nodded, putting the bit of wood from one of the pairs of pants under the microscope, and bringing it up on the main screen.

----

They were almost to Baltimore, when House looked at Tony. "So Jethro the dog… it a pit bull?"

Tony snorted, shaking his head. "A German Shepard. A dog that follows its nose like Gibbs follows his gut."

House snorted, looking out the back window.

Then stopped, and slowly looked back at Tony. "Follows its nose…

He banged on the window between the back of the van and the front.

Ziva turned around, and rolled it down. "What is it?"

"Turn around! She's not in a fish warehouse—it's a trap!"

Gibbs glanced at him. "How do you know that?"

"Smell. When we were doing the external exams on the three assassins, I didn't smell any fish at all."

"They could have taken a shower, House."

"But I did smell something… a chemical smell, I couldn't place it. It was faint, but definitely there. Call Abby; have her run a mass spectrometer analysis on their hair, or a skin sample. That fish warehouse in Baltimore is a trap, Gibbs."

Gibbs kept driving for a little while, hands tight on the wheel, then suddenly braked, swung the van around, and made a u-turn in the middle of the street.

House grunted, impacting the side of the van as it turned. He moved back to his seat, and sighed, resting his head back and closing his eyes, as he listened to Gibbs calling Abby and telling her about the smell.

----

Ducky looked up, as the door to Autopsy slid open. "Ah, Abby, I was just about to call you. These fellows all have damaged lungs and kidneys… I would suspect from the inhalation of some chemical."

Abby nodded. "House and Gibbs think they were exposed to a chemical wherever their boss is hiding out."

Ducky looked a bit exited. "And if we can determine what that chemical is…"

Abby smiled, nodding. "We'll have a real clue as to where she's hiding."

----

McGee grabbed Abby's shoulder, as she came in. "I've got it! It's a Southern Yellow Pine."

"Which tells us what, McGee?"

He frowned a little. "Uh, well, it's used for lumber in upscale homes… it's used for fatwood for starting fires…they could be at a lumber mill."

"That's not enough! Gibbs is gonna want more… we have to find out what kind of mill!"

McGee sighed. "Great. How are we gonna do that?"

"With this," she said, holding up a petri dish with a bit of lung tissue in it, "and good old Major Mass Spec."

----

Gibbs' phone rang, and everyone in the truck looked up.

He handed it to Ziva, who answered, and put it on speakerphone.

"They're at a utility pole production plant," said Abby's voice.

"The chemical was PCP—" started McGee.

"The drug?" asked Tony.

"No, the drug's Phencyclidine, I'm talking about Pentachlorophenol."

"Uh… okay…?" said Tony.

"It's used in pressure treating wood," said McGee, "but due to the environmental impact of the chemical, its use is restricted to treating utility poles."

"The wood we found is Southern Yellow Pine, which is the most common wood for utility poles," said Abby, "and Ducky found kidney and lung damage."

"Pentachlorophenol is extremely nephrotoxic," said House. "It makes sense."

Gibbs looked at him. "What?"

"Nephrotoxic. Toxic to the kidneys."

"Good one House," said Abby, "you're right. I looked it up, and it would only take minimal exposure to cause the kind of damage Ducky and Palmer found in two out of the three assassins."

"The creatinin levels of the guy that's still alive were elevated. He was exposed to it as well," said House, remembering.

"Right. The only one that's less affected is Viggo Dratniev—presumably because he got here later than the other three," said Abby.

"We're narrowing down the locations based on distance and activity," said McGee, "we should have the location—now!"

"There's only one possibility a within two hundred mile radius of the Director's house. I'm sending the coordinates to your palm, Gibbs," said Abby.

"That's good work, you two," said Gibbs, before hanging up the phone, and swinging the van around again, in a completely different direction, and dialing again. "Mike, you might want to head down to Virginia—"

----

Wilson jumped a little, as his phone rang.

"Hey," he said, quickly, after seeing it was House and answering. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. We got the location. We're heading there now to take her down."

"We… you're going?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"…Yeah."

"Then why…"

"Because she had three people shot, Wilson. We're here. I gotta go."

"House!" he got up, walking out of the room, into the hall.

"What?"

"I… I got a job."

"What?"

"Assistant head of Oncology, at the VA hospital in DC. It's fourteen minutes away from the Navy Yard. I quit my job here this morning. Cuddy gave me a recommendation… It's… it's not the best thing for my career… but I think it's the best thing for me. I was going to wait until this weekend to tell you, but…" He was crying.

"… Oh. I… That's…"

"So… just don't get yourself killed. Okay?" he said, tearfully.

"…Okay."

House hung up.

Wilson bit his lip, slowly lowering the phone from his ear, and wiping his face on his sleeve. He walked back into the Director's room. "They found her."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

----

House stood by the van as the three special agents put on bulletproof vests. A car pulled up a minute later, and Mike Franks got out of the driver's seat, gun already in his hand.

House stood back, watching, as they headed slowly towards the big gray building, through the parking lot. He watched, as they slammed the door open, as sirens sounded on the street behind them, backup on the way, backup they weren't about to wait for.

Shots sounded, inside the building, five, six, seven.

Then, "House!"

He hurried inside.

Four people were standing over a figure on the gray, sawdust covered floor.

He knelt, pressing his fingers to the blond woman's carotid artery.

He looked up, nodding once. "She's dead."

He got up, checking the wound on Ziva's arm—she had just been grazed by a bullet, and would be perfectly fine.

The sirens arrived, and House closed his eyes, leaning against the side of the building.

They were done.

She was dead, they were done.

His leg hurt.

A slight smile formed on his lips.

Wilson was moving to DC.

----

Jenny smiled a little, as the assistant NCIS coroner came into her room wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope.

"You got all dressed up just for little old me?"

He snorted, taking her pulse. "I'll have you know this is the first time I've worn a lab coat since a board member was going to fire me if I didn't wear one."

She chuckled. "Uh-huh." Then she bit her lip. "How bad is it?"

"Well, you'll live. But that arm isn't going to work very well ever again… And you're not going to be able to participate in any active combat. You'll probably have some neuropathic–nerve–pain from the damage to your arm for a while, possibly for the rest of your life, but it shouldn't be too severe."

She closed her eyes, briefly, and then opened them. "I'm resigning as Director of NCIS. The fallout from this… it's going to be too big to keep quiet."

"Good."

"You're about as tactful as Gibbs, you know that?"

"The resigning part. Not the fallout part."

He had started to move towards the door.

"I'm curious… why do you think that's good?"

"You know what Gibbs said when I told him I wasn't comfortable continuing to sleep with him?"

"No… what?"

"That he was breaking one of his own rules--never date a coworker'. You're resigning. He's not. That's what I meant, when I said good."

And with that, he limped out… straight into Mike Franks.

"The security in this hospital sucks," he said, half growling, showing House the gun he'd had with him coming in.

House actually laughed. "Not about to argue with you on that."

----

_A few hours later_

Ducky smiled, walking up to Greg in the hospital hallway. "How is she?"

"She's stable, and is gonna be okay, mostly."

"How's Gibbs?"

House turned his head, looking into the room, where Gibbs was standing over the sleeping ex-director's bed, then back at Ducky. "I think he's gonna be okay as long as she is."

Ducky nodded. "I am glad about that."

House nodded, and then spoke, almost absently. "I solved it, by the way."

Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Solved what, Gregory?"

"Remember what you said when I asked if I could have the job?" asked House, quietly.

"Ah, yes… I believe I said you were just interested in the puzzle."

"Well… you were right. And I solved it. I solved what makes a person like me or Gibbs."

"Oh?"

House nodded to the Director's room. "Not having what you're supposed to have."

Ducky looked inside, to see Gibbs slowly curl his hand around Jenny's.

She opened her eyes, and smiled at him.

When Ducky turned around, House was gone.

----

Tony smiled, as he opened his door to find Ziva there.

"I am sorry for getting mad at you," she said.

Tony shook his head. "I'm sorry for touching you without permission."

She smiled, and walked in, touching his chin, as she turned around him. "Have you got anything to eat?"

He shook his head. "No, and I don't think I need anything…"

She laughed. "Tony. Stop being so spiny."

Tony grimaced slightly. "Horny. The word is horny."

"Whatever, Tony."

----

Wilson looked up, as the door to his office opened without a knock.

Then he slowly got to his feet, walked over, and put his arms around his lover's waist. "I'm sorry."

"Never say you're sorry."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I know you didn't know what the New Haven was."

"House?"

"Hmm?"

"You… you've changed."

"No I haven't."

Wilson smiled, burying his face in House's chest. "Yes you have."

"How?"

Wilson raised his head, still smiling. "You're letting yourself care… and you're letting yourself be happy."

"You think the two are connected?"

Wilson nodded, but didn't speak, just rested his head in the crook of House's neck, breathing in his friend and lover's scent.

"You smell."

"Hmm?"

Wilson smiled into House's neck. "When's the last time you showered?"

"Um… before leaving for the New Haven."

"Maybe we should change that."

House grinned. "Maybe we should."

.


End file.
